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BY MRS. ANNA H. DORSEY, 



ADTHORESS OF 



Blenheim Forest, the Sisters of Charity, Tears on the Diadem, the Oriental Pearl, Sec. 



B A L T I iM O R E : 
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY JOHN MURPHY 

No. 178 MARKET STREET. 
PHILADELPHIA: J. FULLERTON. PITTSBURG: G. QUIGLEY. 

SOLD BY BOOKSELLEFS GENERALLy. 



MPCCCXLIX 



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?^*3>^ 



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Entered, accordiug to the act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight 
hundred and forty-nine, by John Murphy, in the clerk's office of 
the District Court of Maryland. 



TO THE 

VERY REV. LOUIS R. DELUOL, 

As a tribute of veneration for those Christian virtues, and high 

ennobling qualities which are illustrated in his life— as an indication 

of- undying gratitude to one, vsrho in prosperity taught me humility, 

and in adversity, patience, these unpretending pages are respectfully 

inscribed, by the 

AUTHORESS. 



Hr 



PREFACE. 

A FEW months ago, it was suggested to us, to collect 
our simple scraps of poetry together, and publish them in a 
volume. Many of them have appeared at intervals in the 
Catholic monthlies, and vreeklies of the country — some few 
were written at an early age, ere we had found amidst a 
" weary land," the True, and safe Fold, and were published 
in certain literary periodicals, which gave them a place of 
honor, and almost flattered us into believing, we had some 
poetic talent. It would be offering a gratuitous insult to 
the public, to affect to depreciate our unpretending melo- 
dies, and try to shelter ourselves from criticism by pleading 
"extreme youth," "haste," or a "too active imagination." 
In truth we can do none of this, and will only say, that, 
as birds, in certain countries are by cruel artifices taught to 
sing, so, we, oftimes sighing, and weeping amidst this 
vale of woe, have poured forth in simple words, the yearn- 
ings of our soul after Heaven, and soothed our pangs^ 
when the billow, or the grave, closed over the loved or 
prized, by chaunting prayerful dirges. We could, and 
sincerely do wish, we had the genius of Longfellow, or the 
highly attuned talent of a Hemans ; or even, that the beau- 
tiful, and holy harmonies, which sometimes stir our own 
soul, could sweetly escape in language adequate to their 
perfection ; but these gifts are unattainable to our humble 
mind ; and in obeying the suggestion of partial friends, we 
are in doubt, whether or not, we have acted wisely, by 
bringing in our lone taper amongst brilliant constellations — 
but we leave the result with our readers, and if we gain 
naught else, we shall learn but another, costly and good 
lesson, from experience. 



CONTENTS. 

The Eastern Miracle, I3 

Italian Mariners' Hymn to the Blessed Virgin, 22 

Sunset among the Alps, 25 

Gloom enshrouds each hope I cherished, 29 

David and Bathsheba, 32 

O'Connell's Heart, 38 

Prayer to the Blessed Virgin, 41 

The Autumn Blast, 44 

There is a brighter world than this, 47 

Isadore, 48 

The Burial 51 

Beatrice, 55 

I would not live alway, 58 

The Bride, , 60 

To a Dove, 66 

The Last Blessing, 67 

The Twins, 71 

Lines on hearing the Litany of Loretto chaunted in St. Mary's 

Chapel, Baltimore, 74 

Three Hundred Years Ago, 78 

Gone Forever, S3 

The Vesper Star, 86 

The Dead Pontiff, 89 

The Convert, 95 

An Old Romaunce, , 97 

The Cities of Silence, 113 

Farewell to the Dead, 115 

Gethsemane, 118 

How will He Come ? 124 

Mary Magdalene ; a Tradition of Nain, 127 

Pio Nono 136 




THE EASTERN MIRACLE. 



The gorgeous clouds of summer eve, 

Like things of life, were floating by 
With outspread pinions, to receive 

The light which glittered o'er the sky. 
Some furled around the mountain's height. 

Their purple robes and starry fringe, 
Some caught upon their wings the light 

Of purple hues, and amber tinge, 
And spread their gleaming banners o'er 

The dimpled waves of Galilee, 
And lit the palm trees on the shore 

With softer shades of brilliancy. 
It was the hour when nature's rest 

Hung like a spell above the «arth, 
And lulled, upon her slumbering breast. 

Each sound of pain and noisy mirth ; 

2 



14 FLOWERS OF 

When every bright eyed blossom stole 

A jewel from the crown of even, 
And man's communion with his soul, 

Had humbler — holier thoughts of heaven. 
It was the hour when Jesus loved, 

From multitudes, to steal away — 
Who wondered — doubted — and approved — 

Unto some mountain's height — to pray — 
And while the world lay hushed beneath. 

And while the sky shone bright beyond, 
And scarce the solemn wind harp's breath, 

To whispering waves its notes respond ; 
He pondered o'er the mystery, 

Which clothed in flesh Omnipotence — 
Eternal from eternity. 

To yield to death's inheritance. 
And tho' that human part, awhile 

Grew sick with grief, and faint with dread, 
The God, immortal Spirit's smile. 

Triumphant o'er the darkness shed 
Light from the living throne on high, 

Strength from tbe might of Deity ; 
A world hung trembling on his love — 

An Eden sighed to smile again. 
And see the sapphire portals move, 

Which erst were closed by mortal stain — 
A world with sin's mortality 

Within its bosom festering. 
Writhing beneath the wrath of God, 

And every bright spot withering 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 15 

Beneath his just — avenging rod — 

In its own impotence lay low 
Doomed to transgression's penalty, 

Unless an arm divine, would throw 
Its shelter o'er its misery. 

His prayer was done, but gloom and sadness 

Swept darkly o'er the stormy skies, 
And every hue of light and gladness, 

Upon the storm's wild pinion dies; 
A shadow like the pall of death 

Hung o'er the scenes of Judah's land, 
Arid fled before the tempest's breath 

Soft breezes which the palm trees fanned ; 
They swayed, and drooped beneath its wrath 

Like men when sorrows bow them down ; 
The wind rushed on its stormy path, 

They rose again to meet its frown. 
It snatched sweet roses from their stem, 

And tore their glowing leaves apart, 
What recked the sullen storm of them. 

Now broken, like a woman's heart. 
Whose warm affections scattered quite. 

Or turned aside with harsh disdain 
Like rose leaves, torn by storm and blight. 

Refuses to be healed again ? 

There was a sullen dash 

Of waves on the shore. 
And the lightning flash. 

Of the thunder's roar. 



16 FLOWERSOP 

Glared on a lone barque 

'Mid the raging sea, 
While the billows dark 
O'er its topmast flee ! 
'Tis borne on the crest 

Of a death like wave, 
Now 'tis wrapped in the breast 

Of a surging grave ! 
The mad eddies hurl 

The vessel once more 
Upon the black whirl 
Of the water's roar; 
Her masts are all shattered, 

Her cordage is rent. 
Her sails torn and scattered, 

Her mariners spent : 
They sink down, heart-broken, 

Upon the cold deck ! 
Hope shows no bright token 
To guide on the wreck ; 
When, lo ! they see upon the wave, 

A gliding form of light advance. 
The cowering billows gently lave 

His feet, and tremble at his glance ; 
The waters, in their stormy pride, 

Cease their wild music at his nod, 
And leap amazed on either side 

To form a pathway for their God ! 

The conquered winds most softly wail, 

Then o'er the billows calmly die — 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 17 

And tempest clouds withdrew the veil 

Which hid each glittering world on high, 
And moonlight shines upon the wave, 

While every starry watcher seems 
The Saviour's path with gems to pave ; 

And as the silvery radiance gleams 
In brilliant circles o'er his head, 

His followers, who trembling stand 
Upon the vessel's deck, with dread 

Shrink back, and form a trembling band — 
" Behold a spirit comes !" they cry, 

And kneel with terror shivering; 
When, lo ! their Master's words reply, 

Like mellow music whispering, 
" 'Tis I, be not afraid !" They fell 

Most sweetly on each stricken soul, 
And hope's triumphant rays dispel 

Despairing nature's dark control. 

But in the soul of one there crept 

Stern doubts, and wild uncertain fears. 
While in his heart's deep cell now slept 

The hopes which erst had glimmered there : 
And lifting up his voice on high, 

Which trembled at each word he said. 
And stretching forth towards the sky 

His hands, which quivered with his dread, 
He cried, " Oh Lord, if it be thou, 

Who saved us from a watery grave, 
2* 



18 FLOWERSOF^ 

Speak but the word, and bid me now 

Come forth, to meet thee on the wave !" 
And Jesus gently whispered " Come !" 

And walked along the unyielding sea, 
To meet his loved but faithless one, 

Who when he saw the billows flee 
In sparkling beauty round his path, 

And felt the waters, cool and sweet. 
Which awed him in their tempest wrath, 

Flow swiftly o'er his shrinking feet ; 
His eyes grew dim, his heart grew weak, 

His pulse more feebly throbs and throes, 
His palsied tongue refused to speak. 

Until the murm'ring waters close 
Like mantles of despair around 

His sinking form ! He looks on high ; 
But cold, and bright within each bound 

Of light, the stars pure mystery 
Of pencilled beauty shines ! No hope 

Is there ! The dim and far-off shore, 
Its line of surge, its green hills slope. 

Send back a whisper " Life is o'er ;" 
He gasps — he sinks ! Why, oh my God, 

Doth man thus doubt when thou art near. 
Why shun the paths which thou hast trod, 

Or trace them with a slavish fear; 
Why faint when thou each hope canst cherish, 

And faithless from thy bosom fly ? 
With arms outstretched, he shrieks, " I perish, 

Save ! Save me. Master, or 1 die !" 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 19 

'Tis thus when stormy billows roll, 

Our summer barques o'er life's wild sea, 
And threaten to engulf the soul 

In depths of mortal misery, 
We hear a calm and winning tone, 

Most sweetly whispering, " Tis I." 
But still afraid, our hearts disown 

The glorious Legate of the sky, 
Until earth's all of futile dreams, 

And cheating hopes, and charms decay. 
And e'en immortal pleasure seems 

Like morning mists to fade away ; 
Then when this false world cheats no more 

With silvery tongue, or Syren song. 
And hearts are riven to the core 

By deeds of grief — or cruel wrong. 
And when no more our souls can cherish 

Ambition, or earth's meed of fame, 
We sink and cry " Save, Lord, we perish, 

We trust in thine Almighty name !" 
And is it man who thus would render 

Back to heaven the spark it gave, 
When all else fails, convulsive tender 

Life's fainting remnant o'er the grave? 
Ungrateful man ! no parallel 

Can with thy faithless will compare, 
Except that love which angels tell. 

And which ungrateful man may share ! 



20 FLOWERSOF 

Did Jesus, as he saved him, chide 

His faithless hope, or doubting love. 
Or frown on him who thus defied 

His grace ? Like Cyria's plaintive dove. 
When echoing to the BulbuPs note 

From his sweet throne on Sharon's rose, 
The tale of love in tones which float 

More softly as the day-beams close, 
The Master turned his holy brow 

With eyes uplifted to the sky, 
And while the heavens seemed to bow 

Their thrones to his high majesty, 
He mildly, and in mercy said. 

To those whose souls with hope expand, 
" Why from your Lord turn thus in dread, 

Why did ye doubt, ye faithless^ band ?" 

When tears are weeping o'er the dead. 

And the crushed spirit bows its might, 
And will not be admonished 

That those they loved with fond delight 
Sleep calmly on the Saviour's breast. 

Safe from this world's distracting care ; 
And only see their loved and blest 

Within the cold grave, withering there — 
Turn from the words of sweet assurance. 

Which o'er their hearts wild tempests steal. 
And yield again to grief's endurance. 

Which consolation's fountains seal ; 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 21 

At length when every heart chord shaken, 

Vibrates with its misery, 
When from the fountain, then forsaken 

By its burning tears, is dry, 
All else is fled but desolation, 

And nought to love or peace responds, 
And shadows spread their devastation. 

Clasped in their earthly, slavish bonds ; 
The Lord of peace glides o'er the billow 

To shield them from the thrall of death. 
And while their heads his strong arms pillow, 

Whispers " Oh thou of little faith. 
Why did ye doubt !" Such blest repose 

Beneath the brightness of his wing, 
Demands, until life's latest close. 

Our dearest — earthly offering ! 



ir 



r^fl'^^r^ 







ITALIAN MARINER'S HYMN 

TO THE 

BLESSED VIRGIN. 

CHORUS. 

The moon-lit billows lave our bark, 
As o'er their surges bright we ride : 

Sancta Maria ! guide and mark 

Our glittering pathway o'er the tide; 

Ora pro nobis. 

And shine upon our life's wild sea, 
Then bid each cloud and tempest flee. 
That comes between our souls and thee I 

SINGLE VOICE. 

Rest brothers, rest upon each oar, 

For the night breeze sighs. 
And steals most sweetly from the shore ; 

Oh, we fall, and rise. 
As the blue billows round us curl, 
And balmy winds our sails unfurl. 

CHORUS. 

Regina t^ngelorum I Smile 

Upon our labors and our toil. 
Save us from dreams of wreck the while, 

We draw our nets and count our spoil. 

Ora pro nobis. 



, FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 23 

As thou in purest thoughts excel, 

Oh guard our dark eyed daughters well, 

Preserve them from the tempter's spell. 

SINGLE VOICE. 

Rest brothers ! perils wild forget. 

From the shore now steals 
The light notes of a castinet, 

And sweet laughter peals. 
With dance of echoing feet along. 
Above the surge's whispering song. 

CHORUS. 

Stella Matutina ! bless 

Our homes beneath the sunny vine, 
Restore us to the loved caress 

Of those who kneel before thy shrine. 

Ora pro nobis. 

Preserve their beauty from decay, 
And gifts of gold and pearls we'll lay 
Upon thine altars when we pray. 

SINGLE VOICE. 

Hear, oh Mater Salvatoris, 

Hear our hymn to thee. 
Spread thy glittering pinions o'er us — 

Scatter rays of love before us ; 
From Eternity ! 



24 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY, 



CHORUS. 

Furl the white sails — lay by each oar — 
We're floating in — the bright sands yield ! 

O soon our bark we'll gently moor, 
On flow'ry shores thy sparkling keel. 

Ora pro nobis. 

Sancta Maria ! hear us when 
The niists of death on us descend, 
Shield from its gloom, our souls — Amen. 




i 



SUNSET AMONG THE ALPS.* 

The valleys rest in shadow, and the hum 
Of gentle sounds, and low toned melodies 
Are stilled, and twilight spreads her misty arms 
In broader sadness o'er their happy scenes. 
And creeps along the mountains' snowy sides. 
Until the setting sun's last mellow beams 
Wreathe up in many a gold and purple ring 
Around the highest Alpine peaks. 

So bright 
Were these fair coronals, of brilliance, snow, 
And mist — so sparkling was the rose-like hue 
Which shed sweet halos round the far-off beams ; 
So spirit-like each whisper of the winds; 
So solemn was the wild magnificence 
Of their high solitudes, that every peak 
And avalanche, whose rest is like the sleep 
Of hungry giants, seemed the ministers 
Of Him who reared those altars to himself! 
But listen ! 'twas no echo of the winds — 
I heard a voice from yonder lofty height — • 
Again— 

* When the sun is setting, the shepherd, whose dwelling is on the 
highest peak, comes to the door of his cabin, and through a horn exclaims 
to the inhabitants of mountain and valley — " Praise ye the Lord." The 
words are echoed from Alp to Alp by those who catch the sound in suc- 
cession, until the welkin quivers with the pealing hosanna — then all 
kneel with heads uncovered in silence and prayer. When their devo- 
tions are over, the echoes are once more startled with their voices, and 
ringing from cliff to cliff, is heard the social " good night." 



26 FLOWERS OF 

." Praise ye the Lord " — "Praise ye the Lord !" 
In accents loud the tones demand, and then 
From Alp to Alp, men's voices catch the note 
And swelling onward rolls the chorus sweet, 
Until the valleys dim, and air and sky. 
And mountain caverns tremble with the song. 
The chamois pauses on his cloud girt cliff 
And listens with his head upturned — intent, 
And conscious ; — the wild gazelle, half startled 
From her rest, which full of constant peril 
Is but light, with one foot poised in air 
Stands ready for a leap beyond man's reach ; 
But soon distinguishing those blessed sounds 
From hunter's shout and bugle note, returns 
Again, and closes her soft eyes in peace. 
As swelling past the jubilate rings! 
Louder and louder peals the strain, and chimes 
Of children's silvery tongues, and women's tones 
Blend with the anthem's thunder burst of praise — 

Praise ye the Lord ! 
For He bath spread a guardian ring 
Of angels round our Alpine path. 
To shield us from the thundering 
Of avalanches in their wrath ; 
Old men, who by your hearth stones stand — 
And ye out on the mountain's side 
With flocks around, and crook in hand, 
Send — send the chorus far and wide. 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 27 

Praise ye the Lord ! 
The mist is floating to the skies 
With gem-like shadows on its wing, 
Oh swifter let our anlhem rise 
From hearts with tears on every string : 
Fathers and sons ! by hands caressed, 
Whose love plants roses in the wild ; 
Young mother! from thy blue veined breast, 
Lift up in prayer thy sleeping child. 

Praise ye the Lord ! 
Fair maiden with the thoughtful brow 
And swelling lips like rose-buds flush ; 
Ye bright haired ones, with cheeks whose glow 
With cradled innocence still blush ; 
Ye dwellers in the valleys dim. 
Harp loudly on the thrilling chord — 
Ye hills, and snows, and glaciers, hymn 
Praise ye the Lord — Praise ye the Lord. 

There was a hush — and by the fading light . 

I saw men kneeling with their heads bowed down, 

And mothers with their guileless babes — and side 

By side, young maidens with their mountain loves, 

All offering up their silent orisons ! 

My God ! how throbbed my heart, and tried in vain 

To hold within its urn, the holiness 

Of sights and sounds sublime. It must have burst. 

Had not a fountain of sweet tears gushed up ! 

Then night came on, o'er steep as well as vale, 



28 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 



And like a chime of music o'er the waves 
Their voices rang again from mountain top 
To mountain top, until each echo sang 
The shepherd's and the hunter's last good night, 
Good night — good night — 

It softly fades away — 
Good night — good night — 

In gushing tones it rings 
Again :- 

Mary, mother — fair madonna. 

Star whose beams are ever bright. 

On our mountain altars shining. 

Bless, oh bless our last good night ! 

Then came a hush — a deep and solemn hush, 
Save when some distant echo whispered low. 
In plaintive cadence — night — good night — good night. 



r^ r^ 




GLOOM ENSHROUDS EACH HOPE I CHERISHED.* 

Gloom enshrouds each hope I cherished, 

We shall meet no more on earth : 
Blossoms one by one haye perished, 

Tears bedew the household hearth, 
And the dove hath fled for ever 

From the holy roof tree's shade ; 
Lowly now its branches quiver, 

As the heavenly visions fade. 

Had we known the barque that bore thee 

Waved the death flag from her prow, 
That she'd ne'er again restore thee 

To the hearts all broken now, 
Then thou wouldst hav^e left us — never — 

By our gentle mother's side ; 
Thou wouldst still have watched as ever. 

Humble in thy manhood's pride. 

Gentlest brother ! in my dreaming. 
Thy dear face hath gladden'd me; 

* Inscribed, with tender affection, to the memory of a beloved and 
highly gifted brother, whose health becoming impaired from over much 
study, embraced, with ready gratitude, the offer made him by Captain 
Dovi^ns, commanding the U. S. Schooner Grampus, to make a cruise 
with him to the West Indies, in the capacity of captain's clerk ; hoping 
that a more bland and temperate climate would restore him to his usual 
vigor, he went— but alas ! never to return. The Grampus with her 
ill-fated crew went down in some one of the violent storms which pre- 
vailed along our coast during the two weeks after she left port. 



30 FLOWERS OF 

'Till the morning's dewy beaming, 
Bids my heart's sweet vision flee : 

Still our mother, in her anguish. 
Her lost darling's footsteps mourn : 

And our father's heart chords languish, 
Can^st thou— wilt thou not return ? 

Did we dream that storms would crush thee 

On thy dark and gloomy way. 
That the chill of death would hush thee, 

'Mid the thundering billow's spray ? 
No ! we fondly hoped to see thee, 

Ere a few short months had fled; 
Loved one, shall we ne'er behold thee 

'Till " the sea gives up her dead ?" 

Once our Lord, in love and kindness, 

Walked upon the raging sea ; 
Did he cheer thee in thy blindness. 

Did he gently smile on thee ? 
In the days now gone for ever. 

Angels bore thy thoughts on high ! 
Did they now around thee hover. 

While the death storm triumphed by ? 

Oh could I have seen thee dying. 

Watched thy death pangs coming fast ; 

Seen thy spirit, fluttering — flying, 
The eternal barriers past — 



LOVE AND MEMORY 



31 



Kissed thy clay, and knelt while weeping 

Hot tears on thy icy brow ; 
Seen thee in thy earth cell sleeping", 

Then I could have borne the blow ! 

But 'tis past ! God cheer our sadness ! 

While the outer clouds look dim ; 
Swell their folds with light and gladness, 

Fringe with hope each gloomy rim ! 
Watch ye angels o'er the billow 

Which enshrouds our lost one now, 
Peace stars twine around his pillow, 

Deck with solemn light his brow. 




DAVID AND BATHSHEBA. 

The golden hues of eve, now richly blent 

With purple tinge and crimson glow, hung bright 

O'er Israel. The rose of Sharon heard 

The bulbul's plaintive tale of love, and breathed 

A luscious sweetness on the evening air, 

While on the pomegranate's ripe red lip 

The dew distilled its transitory gems. 

Low sang the fountain in the olive's shade, 

And chimed so softly with the fragrant winds 

Which wrestled with the dark bright leaves above, 

That as the weary sentinel passed forth 

And back again across the king's broad court, 

He paused, and, leaning on his javelin, 

Dashed his rough hands athwart his moistened brow. 

And bared his head in sweet refreshment there. 

And uttered thanks. 

Upon the palace roof, 
Beneath the shadow of the broad-leafed palm 
Which fringed the terraces. King David sat 
Beside his harp, upon whose golden strings 
One hand fell lightly, making, with the breeze 
That gently whispered there, low melodies. 
While ever and anon the other paused 
And fondly smoothed Bathsheba's burning brow, 
Who, with her white arms clasped upon his knees 
Whereon her head reposed, sat at his feet, 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 33 

Enduring with a silent agony 
The death of her first born. 

Her ebon hair 
In graceful waves hung like a mourning veil 
Around her sad recumbent form, and swept 
In glossy rings the marble floor, while back 
With careless haste, the broad phylactery 
And jewelled signet of her queenly state 
Were thrown, as if the brilliance of each gem 
Were bitter mockery, on that high brow 
So pale and stricken. 

From her half closed eye, * 
Tear after tear, gushed o'er her pallid cheeks, 
And fell unheeded on the costly pearls 
That decked her purple robes and sandalled feet. 
The beauty of her ripened lips had paled, 
The quivering of their rosy pulses ceased, 
As if the white wing of the mighty one 
Who froze the warm blood in her darling's heart 
Had rested there. 

Words, inarticulate 
At first, the echoes of her wounded heart, 
Were spoken sadly now, and then the king. 
Who read her troubled thoughts, clasped tenderly 
Her folded hands in his, and upward gazed ' 
With heavenward prayer upon his silent lips, 
While she in accents low bewailed her child. 
And stretching forth her hands, called on his name, 



34 FLOWERSOF 

As if the boy had risen from the dust, 
And stood with life's full glory in his smile 
Beside her knee, then pressing her hot brow, 
Remembered ' twas a vision which her love's 
Wild agony had conjured up, and wept 
Again the lava tears of bitterness, 
While from the turbid fountains of her heart 
Came burning words, which, like the siroc's breath,; 
Were laden with despair. 

" No more, oh king ! 
Will his soft cheek press thine^ or his dark eye 
Flash brightness into thine, cold, cold and dim ; 
The darkness of the lonely sepulchre, 
With its damp chill, rests on thy darling's brow ! 
Oh ! why did not the hand that laid thee low, 
My child, crush me ! why do I live to feel 
That thou art not, thou, once so bright and fair. 
So like a dream of some fair heavenly thing ? 
I miss thy footfall where the fountains play, 
And hear no more thy laughing bird-like tones. 
Which with the rosy morn brought joy to me. 
I feel not on my cheek thy fragrant breath. 
Or on my brow thy dewy lips ! 

" they're cold— 
They're stilled, for aye, yet thou, oh ! king, canst smile 
As when- the soft curls of thy boy's fair head 
Lay on thy royal breast, like shreds of gold. 
And sweet caresses from his dimpled hands 
Lit up thy forehead's majesty with bliss. 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 35 

Smile, though the altar where was garnered up 
Thy heart's best, purest gem, in ruin lies, 
While the refulgent rays that beamed thereon 
With an unearthly joy-- " 

A flush of pain, 
A pallid agony — one hallowed tear 
Passed o'er King David's face, but this was all. 
As at his feet Bathsheba sank again, 
Helpless, and throbbing like a wounded bird. 
He swept his fingers o'er the golden strings 
That tuned his harp to melody, and soon 
Upon the hushed still air of eventide, 
A plaintive thrill of music came, which fell 
Upon that stricken mother's fainting heart 
Like heavenly dews upon a withering leaf. 
With eyes upraised in peace ineffable. 
And holy brow, whose rapt expression lent 
A softened glory to the waving hair, 
Whose shining masses o'er his shoulders fell, 
The king, with voice attuned to cadences 
Of melting richness, sang : 

Weep not, Bathsheba ! 
Lo ! the God of Israel called him 

To his palaces of light : 
Wouldst thou like a cloud enfold him, 

Hide him from the Lord of might? 

While he lingered, 
And the warm blood slowly quivered 

Through each fair and rounded limb. 



36 FLOWERSOF 

Prayers that he might be delivered, 
Mingled with my evening hymn. 

Sackcloth and ashes ! 
Tears of anguish, days of fasting, 

Minutes, doled by grief's decay, 
Hope and fear alternate lasting, 

Humbly marked my grief-worn way. 

'Twas vain, Bathsheba ! 
All my weeping — all my anguish. 

Could not raise him from the dust ; 
And while here in grief we languish, 

He can never come to us. 

Jehovah loved him ! 
And the white winged seraphs bore him 

To the shelter of his breast ; 
Prayers and tears can ne'er restore him 

From that long, eternal rest. 

Calmly, Bathsheba ! 
• Wait until life's grief-worn story. 

With its dreams, grow cold and dim, 
Then high o'er yon arch of glory 
We will gladly soar to him. 

Triumph, O Israel ! 
For the Lord Jehovah reigneth ! 

We his chosen people are : 
All of peace, and all that paineth, 

Springeth from our Father's care ! 



LOVE AND MEMORY 



37 



And thus the king, in sweet triumphant strains, 

Threw angel halos o'er the boy's fair dust, 

And yielded him, without a murmuring thought. 

Into the hands of Him who gave him life. 

And though the victim seemed the conqueror. 

In all his warlike victories — in all 

His kingly deeds and high triumphant state, 

He ne'er had honored so his royal race 

As when he bowed with meek submission down 

To the great God, who thus had stricken him. 




O'CONNELL'S HEART.* 

Bear it on tenderly, 

Slowly and mournfully ! 
That heart of a nation which pulsates no more, 
The fount that gushed ever with freedom's high lore. 
Through years over Erin it brooded and wept, 
It watched while she slumbered, and prayed when she 

slept. 
And the Saxon raged on that their chains had not crushed 
The faith of a nation whose harp they had hushed. 

Bear it on tenderly, 

Slowly and mournfully ! 
It was broken at last ! when the famine plague's glaive, 
And the spade turned the shamrock in grav€ after grave. 
When the angels of God turned weeping away 
From the want-stricken earth, and its famishing clay, 
And the wail of the dying arose from the sod. 
The dying — those martyrs to faith and their God — 
Came like the wild knell of his hope's fairest day. 
Is it strange that its life tide ebbed quickly away ? 

Bear it on tenderly. 

Slowly and mournfully. 
Oh God ! how it struggled to burst the vile chain 
That fettered thee, Erin — but struggled in vain, 

* The last words of this great and extraordinary man were, ** My 
body to Ireland — my heart to Rome— and my soul to God." 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 39 

How humble to God — to the Saxon what scorn, 

To thy friends true and loving, thy foes proud and stern ; 

How strong, like a barrier of angels it stood, 

Crying " Justice ! we struggle for justice, not blood," 

And in Christ's holy name, chided back the mad throngs 

Who indignant, were thirsting for blood, for their wrongs. 

Bear it on tenderly. 

Slowly and mournfully. 
From Erin's sad sunset, to Italy's light. 
Where the sunshine of glory hath sprung from the night. 
Where the golden eyed spirit of freedom's new birth. 
Aroused by a voice which thrills o'er the earth. 
Will with the fair angels keep vigils around thee, 
Rejoicing that freed from the fetters that bound thee, 
Released from its anguish — its watching — its weeping, 
It rests far above where its ashes are sleeping. 

Yes, bear it on tenderly, 

Slowly and mournfully ; 
From Lough Foyle's dark waters, to Shannon's broad 

wave. 
To the rough Munster coast which the ocean tides lave. 
Comes a sad note of wailing, it swells like the sea, 
It sounds from the hill tops, it shrieks o'er the lea I 
Oh Erin — Oh Erin, what crime hast thou done, 
That the light should be blotted away from thy sun. 
Thy Faith be down-trodden, thy blessings all flee. 
And thy sons and thy daughters be martyred with thee ! 



40 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 

Bear it on tenderly, 

Slowly and mournfully, 
Where sleep the apostles, where martyred saints rest, 
Lay it tenderly down near the shrines of the blest, 
For the spirit that lit up its casket of clay 
Hath gone with the lustre of faith round its w^ay, 
Appealing before the tribunal of heaven, 
Oh Erin for thee that thy chains may be riven. 
And the day hastens on when the Saxon shall wonder. 
And flee from the wrath of its answering thunder. 




PRAYER TO THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 

The sea-bird tossed by angry winds, 

Turns to her far-off sheltered nest, 
Nor heeds the ocean's spray that flings, 

Its sparkling eddies on her breast. 
She droops — she faints — yet struggles on, 

To reach yon rocky, sea-girt height ; 
'Tis gained — at last she folds her wings, 

Serene amid the tempest's might. 

Mother of God ! our. souls opprest 

By earth's conflicting pains and woes, 
Turn with unwavering faith to thee, 

To find amidst its storms repose. 
Refuge of sinners ! thou hast trod 

This lonely desert, where we weep; 
Then shield us 'neath thy wings of Love, 

When life's wild tempests o'er us sweep. 

When on thy bosom thou didst bear 

The Prince of Peace, thy Saviour-child, 
How thrilled thy placid soul with joy, 

While watching o'er his slumbers mild. 
How first in adoration deep. 

Thy humble spirit kissed the earth. 
And then upborne on flaming wings, 

Exulted in the mystic birth ! 

4* 



42 F L O W E R S O F 

By every bliss that lit tby soul, 

While hovering near thy child divine, 
By every holy thought, that burned 

Its worship on so pure a shrine. 
Pray for us, mother ! that life's stains 

Set not their doom, upon our souls. 
But pass us o'er as yon dim cloud. 

Athwart the fading sun^light rolls. 

Mother of sorrows, by the tears, 

And drops of blood, and scourging blows 
That marked the Saviour's path of gloom. 

And wrung thy heart with death-like throes : 
By nature's anguish, as she mourned 

Convulsed beneath his dying nod. 
By his last looks — his w^ords to thee, 

Thy Son, and yet thy Saviour-God! 

Pray for us sinners ! that earth's dream, 

So richly decked with light and wile, 
May not defraud our souls of heaven, 

Or chain them 'neath the tempter's smile. 
Pray, that life's storm-clouds may be lit 

With hues from yonder heavenly shore, 
And lift our hopes exulting up. 

Like rainbows when the storm is o'er. 

Star of life's sea ! the shadows fall 

In dimness o'er our lonely way, 
Earth's cherished hopes are bruised and chilled. 

And passing on to sure decay. 



LOVE AND MEMORY 



43 



Illume our steps, and take the hearts 
That fettered here, in anguish beat, 

And lay them, with their sins and woes, 
Sweet mother ! at the Saviour's feet. 




THE AUTUMN BLAST. 

It comes, the autumn blast, 

Rushing in sadness past, 
And tears the trembling leaves away 
That cling to the dark and withered spray ; 
What heeded it, that the summer air 
Had nestled with whispering music there, 
That the black-bird's note, from amidst the shade, 
Gushed forth at the hour when sunbeams fade? 
What cared that blast that the autumn sky 
Had tinged those leaves with a regal die. 
That they brightened and glowed, though fading still, 
And made strange light on the lonely hill ? 

Cease, cease, O wind, thy song ; 

Go battle with the strong! 
Spare lowly things — the bud, the flower — 
Hie thee to some mountain for thy dower, 
Where dark pines quiver beneath the blast, 
And the craggy rocks are loosening fast ; 
Where the black clouds, like a marshalled throng, 
March to the notes of thy shrill wild song ; 
Go wear, like a conqueror, on thy breast, 
The pitiless eagle's blood-stained nest \ 
Scatter his royal plumes on the blast. 
That all may know where the victor passed. 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 45 

Thou art, thou art like death, 

With thy destroying breath ; 
The most beloved, and the fairest thing, 
Bow silently down beneath thy wing. 
Or, hurled on the waves of some dark river. 
Are borne from our aching eyes for ever ! 
Tlie vines, clinging round the household door. 
Now shelter that holy place no more; 
And the tree, beneath whose kindly shade 
'The children at sunset gladly played. 
Hath yielded its faded leaves to thee ; 
They add new mirth to thy stormy glee. 

I pray with many a tear, 

Hear, wintry blast, O hear ! 
It answered me with a loud hurra, 
And dashed my tears on the earth like spray. 
And swept along to the dark wild wave 
That covers the seaman's stormy grave. 
And shaded the sea with a tempest dun, — 
It shrieked in scorn at the minute-gun, 
And thought it a brave and mirthful sound — 
The mariner's cry, when his barque went down — 
It rushed along, and the billows high 
Leaped madly up to the troubled sky. 

It will slumber, that blast! 

Like life's tempests, at last. 
And the failing soul that hath clung too close 
To the household tree, like a withered rose, 



46 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORT. 



And recked not the thorn that pierced its heart, 

Or the tears that pressed its leaves apart, 

Will wither beneath the north wind's breath, 

And, shiv'ring, float on the waves of death; 

But not like roses and leaves, that tossed 

On some wild shore, are for ever lost ; 

But, borne along, it will reach that clime 

Where harp-strings, touched by the angels, chime ; 

Where storms are hushed, and the wave grows bright. 

And time wears not on his golden flight ; 

Then quail not, mourner, beneath life's blast ; 

Thy soul will rest when the teoipest's past. 




Vi*^ 



THERE IS A BRIGHTER WORLD THAN THIS. 

There is a brighter world than this, 

For man's sweet hope 'tis given, 
Where rays of pure unsullied bliss, 
Shine on, and rippling waters kiss. 
That have their source in heaven. 

There is a holier clime than ours, 

Where no rude storms are driven 
Across our path, to blight the flowers, 
Or crush the hopes of sunny hours — 
For this pure clime is heaven. 

There wearied, broken spirits, rest, 

At peace, secure, forgiven ; 
No more by anguish sore oppressed ; 
They have a home among the blest, 

For ever firm in heaven. 

Then, when life's fountains cease to play, 

And being's link is riven. 
Oh ! may our spirits soar away, 
And bathe in glory's brightest ray 

Around the throne of heaven ! 



I S A D R E . 

I KNEW her in her childhood's time, when blessings round 

her clung, 
And her baptismal innocence, a halo o'er her flung, 
Ere the wild world's deep traitor, sin, had drawn her in 

its guile. 
And heaven lent its own glory down, to dwell within her 

smile. 
Oh, she was fair ! I'd never seen a thing of earth so fair; 
With joyous bruw, and dove-like eyes, and waves of 

shining hair. 
No wonder, for her little heart with trusting footsteps trod. 
Beneath the Holy Virgin's smile, the path that led to God! 

Child as she was, the stricken ones of earth had called 

her blest, 
And by the bed-side of the poor, she was an angel guest, 
And when unto her undimmed faith, the bread of life 

was given, 
Unsullied tears gushed from her heart, that might have 

flowed in heaven. 
But years rolled on — the child of wealth must fill her 

station now ! 
The father's pride, the mother's hopes, lit by ambition's 

glow. 
Sent forth the trembling, sinless one, to brave the snares 

of earth. 
When all her sweet aflections clung around the household 

hearth ! 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 49 

The hair that once was flowing free, in many a shining curl. 
They braided up with glistening gems, and beads of 

costly pearl, 
They wrapped her in the richest robes, and decked with 

diamonds rare 
The gentle hands, that she for years had lifted up in 

prayer ! 
I saw her then — The world had claimed her young heart's 

solemn vow. 
And bade her kneel before its shrine, and to its idols bow, 
And lifted up on high with songs its fantasies of light. 
And laid fair garlands at her feet, that made her pathway 

bright. 

She trembled when those lute-like tones came with their 

magic swell. 
And wove around her spirit's dream a deep melodious 

spell ! 
The tempter's breath is on her cheek, — it flushes on her 

brow — 
Oh maiden, taste not of the cup that he would give thee 

now. 
But ling'ring still she hears fond tales, of earth's enchant- 
ing lore, 
Which tell her that no storms disturb the sunlight of its 

shore ; 
She smiles, then wanders off to seek, amid life's desert 

maze. 
The fantasy, that charmed her heart with such alluring 

rays. 
5 



50 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 

Alas ! her brow is crowned with light, but not the light 
of heaven; 

Gh one, by one, those ties of love are by the cold world 
riven ! 

They melt like snow flakes on the waves of some dark 
turbid stream, 

And contrite tears are like the thoughts of some remem- 
bered dream. 

I pity thee, thou erring one, and fain would have thee go 

Back to the crystal fount, from whence the living waters 
flow, 

Back to the cross — back to the shrine and sweet Ma- 
donna's smile ; 

Thy guardian angel folds his wings, and lingers near thee, 
child ! 

/ saw her die — like rose leaves tossed upon a wintry wave, 
Death tore those painted hues away, and left her but a 

grave; 
I will not tell her agonies, as to its bourne she trod — 
Her soul went up without a veil, to stand before its God. 



s; 



THE BURIAL.* 

'T WAS night, and mists and clouds were brooding o'er 

The sullen sky, and fitful, wintry winds 

Rush''d by with shivering sound, and angrily 

Tore up, in gloomy fragments, every cloud 

That slumbered in its wild uncertain path ! 

You might have seen a twinkling star or two 

Glitter and disappear — then peep again 

Out on the wintry earth — and a few drops 

Of heavy rain, like woman's tears, fall on 

The naked branches o'er the new made grave, 

And patter on the marble tombs that stood 

Around, and sparkle on the coffin lid, 

As sullen light from the red torches glared 

Upon its blazonry, to the sad heart 

Revealing, that the slumberer was young. 

There was a cross reared on a little mount 
Above the grave, which threw its shadows o'er 
The dead, like a pure watcher, or a type 
Of the Redeemer's ever shielding love. 

There was a Gothic chapel near the spot, 

And as the band of white robed priests let down 

The coffin in its grave — a melody 

Of funeral notes from a sweet organ broke 

* Inscribed to the memory of the Rev. John Hoskins, formerly vice- 
president of St. Mary's college, whose high Christian virtues, dignity of 
character, and urbane manners, won for him the friendship and respect 
of all who knew him. 



52 FLOWERSOF 

The death-like stillness ; and when the damp clod 
Boomed down above the dead — a sorrowing cry — 
A solemn dirge, bespoke their depth of anguish ; 

Farewell young brother, 
Soon thy dream of life was over— 

Too early hushed thy voice's tone, 
Low in dust thy form we cover— 

We leave thee here — alone — alone ! 

Rest thee, young brother — 
Now upon the tomb's cold pillow, 

In its sadness deep and lone, 
Fades the light that o'er the billow 

Of thy short existence shone. 

We loved thee, brother ! 
When before our altars bending, 

Where the incense weaves on high. 
Like a solemn offering wending 

Its pure pathway to the sky ! 

We loved thee, brother ! 

Aged Fathers weeping o'er thee 
Tell in every tear they shed 

How they bitterly deplore thee. 
Thou who slumberest with the dead. 

We loved thee, brother ! 
As we felt our days declining, 
We exulted in thy rise 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 53 

Like last rays of sunlight shining 
O'er a new star in the skies. 

Death called thee, brother ! 

And how changed — how changed the story, 
Still the last beams linger here, 

But the star hath set in glory — 
Set to rise, immortal — fair ! 

Father Almighty! 

By the truth which thou hast spoken, 
Saviour ! by thy pleading merit, 

By his every vow unbroken. 
Now, oh ! now receive his spirit. 

' Tis over, brother ! 

And like moaning waters rushing. 
Sighs from every bosom roll — 

Hearts are stricken — tears are gushing 
From the secret of each soul. 

Farewell, young brother. 
To the earth we have consigned thee. 

On thy bosom rests its sod : 
May the resurrection find thee 

On the bosom of thy God ! 

Father Almighty ! 
By the truth which thou hast spoken, 
Saviour ! by thy pleading merit, 



54 



FLOWERS OP LOVE AND MEMORY. 



By his every vow unbroken, 
Now, oh ! now receive his spirit. 

Like the sad music of a wind harp when 
The breath of tempest sweeps alon^ its strings 
Their voices died away, in sighs and tears. 




BEATRICE. 

The convent aisles are hushed, and dim, 

Save where the moonlight gilds the floof ; 
The solemn prayer, and vesper hymn. 

And lofty chaunt are heard no more ! 
A breath of incense on the air, 

The altar taper, bright and lone, 
A sweet perfume of blossoms rare, 
And flowrets o'er the Virgin thrown. 
Are all now left of hours supremely sweet. 
When humble spirits kissed the Master's feet. 

Each nun unto her lowly cell 

Has glided quietly away, 
To slumber 'till the midnight bell 

Shall call her forth to watch and pray. 
Behold one, o'er whose youthful cheek 

Tear after tear is coursing down. 
With hands pressed o'er her bosom meek. 

Like snow flakes on that serge of brown. 
Her eyes upraised, of some deep sorrows tell- 
But see ! she kneels within her lonely cell. 

There are no luxuries for her — 
A bed of straw — a table bare — 

A skull the thoughts of death to stir, 
And picture of her Lord are there. 

No wonder, oh fair child of earth, 

That tears gush from thy bursting heart, 



56 FLOWERSOF 

When thou the heir of haughty birth, 
Dost feel cold poverty's keen smart. 
But list! she tells between each tear and moan, 
The bitterness that wrings her spirit lone ! 

Oh Master ! Thou dost mark each sigh 

That troubled hearts send up to Thee, 
And when the tempest's wrath is nigh 

Thou glidest o'er the raging sea. 
My heart ! my heart is torn that Thou, 

Hast suffered all life's woes for me : 
That thorns have pierced that holy brow, 

And scourges left their stripes on Thee ! 
'Tis strange ! she weeps not o'er the dreams of earth ; 
Nor sighs to taste again the cup of mirth. 

W by is it, that around my way 

Thy mercies have such blessings shed. 
When thou hadst not a place to lay, 

A spot to rest, thy weary head ? 
Why have these feet no rugged vales ? 

No rocky steep these hands to tear? 
When thine were pierced and torn with nails, 

And thy pure heart rent with a spear ! 
She wept not for rich robes or costly gem. 
Or festive halls of light — oh not for them ! 

Oh what to me the splendid beams 

That light the stars on Fame's high brow, 

And what the transient hue that gleams 
Its radiance o'er life's rapid flow ? 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 57 

Can earth's sweet lure, or glory's smile 
Light up the pathway to the tomb, 

Can it the trembling soul beguile 
While passing through the valley's gloom? — 
With streaming eyes, and quivering lips she prest 
The crucifix, that hung upon her breast ! 

These sacred wounds shall mark my way 

And shield me when the storm is nigh ; 
Here let me weep — and watch and pray, 

And at thy feet for ever lie. 
Here, oh my soul, thy vigils keep. 

Cheered onward by each holy vow, 
Until amid the night-watch deep. 

We hear " the bridegroom cometh now." 

She started as upon the midnight air 

The solemn bell tolled forth the hour of prayer ; 

And gathering up the veil, she passed along 

To join the nuns that round the altar throng — 

What cares she for earth's rest — its sneers — or pride ! 

Her heart's sweet shelter is the " wounded side." 






I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. 

Though the bright spots of life, like the fair southern isles, 
Glanced ever around me, in verdure and smiles ; 
Though the harp notes of angels chimed on the sweet air, 
And founts 'mid the blossoms made melody there, 
I would not live al way. 

Though the loved and the lost could return from their rest. 
With light on each forehead^ and peace in each breast. 
And the tears that have mildewed our hearts to decay. 
Should gleam like a torrent of gems o'er our way — 
I would not live alway. 

Though the glories of Eden my exile might cheer, 
My spirit would languish and pine for its sphere 
'Mid the high ringing notes of the seraphim bright, 
Which ascend to the throne of ineffable light. 

" Oh who would live alway ?" 

Where the blossoms we gather are covered with tears, 
And smiles from yon heaven are shadowed by fears. 
Where the soul ever struggles along through life's woes. 
And sin, like a thorn, festers there till life's close. 

Then who would live alway ? 

But with hope shining o'er me, I'd pass through the gloom. 
And sweetly repose in the depths of the tomb ; 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 59 

Ah ! I'd heed not the usury laid on death's trust. 
Of ashes to ashes, and dust unto dust. 

I would not live alway. 

For my soul from her crucible deep in the clay. 
Would spring from the ashes, the dust, and decay ; 
• With her spirit wings glancing, in light she'd arise, 
To kneel at the feet of her Lord in the skies. 

Then who would live alway ! 







THE BRIDE. 

Oh, check not now those gushing, burning tears, 

Which spring up from a newly opened fount ; 
Where glittering hopes are shadowed by sad fears, 

As from its depths dark thoughts unceasing mount, 
To cloud my brow, and wet my cheek. I know 

Full well, that bridal robes and pearls, and gems. 
And tears, suit not each other — yet they flow. 

And would flow on, were jewelled diadems. 
And thrones, and sceptres, with the hopes of love 

Strown at my feet. But when I turn mine eyes 
Into the dark bright depths of thine, which move 

Me with their earnest tenderness, I prize 
Thy love, thy smile, beyond earth's all of light ; 

And joy that vows are written in God's book. 
And graven with a solemn seal, in sight 

Of men, while angels anxious on them look. 

I weep not that my fate is linked with thine, 

'Till Death shall break the mystic chain. I weep 
To know, my mother's eyes — Which on me shine 

In this tumultuous hour, fraught with a deep 
And visible tho' silent prayer — may fade 

And close, while wide, rough rivers, and long miles 
Stretch out their weary barriers, to shade 

Me from the presence of her dying smiles. 
Farewell, sweet Mother ! Oh 'tis hard to leave 

The bosom where my infant head reposed, 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 61° 

To' trust in promises, which may deceive 

And leave me, ere a few short years have closed — 
A broken-hearted thing. Man's haughty creed 

Of love, his high and mighty boast of pride, 
At best leans on a quivering fragile reed, 

Which bends and breaks, while he whose fancy decks 
It with unyielding strength, grows cold, and turns 

A careless eye upon the shattered wrecks 
Himself hath made. 

An altar dark, vi^here burns 
No beacon fire, is woman, when the spell 
Of Love and hope is past. 

Farewell — farewell — 
My own sweet Mother — When you at evening bow 

Before God's shrine, bid every tear-drop tell 
A prayer for me. Oh let me kiss thy brow 

Once more, and then, farewell. 

My father's hand 
Now resteth on my head, while up to Heaven 

His prayers invisible, to God's bright land 
Ascend — that, like the dews of summer even, 

His mercies may enshrine my sinful heart, 
And shield it from the Tempter's baleful breath 

Which planteth in the soul an iron dart 
Corroding on for ever unto death. 

Now press me to thy bosom, father, dear, 
And lay thine arms around me, ere I go. 
6 



62 F L O W E R S O F 

Will other lips so gently kiss a tear 
From my sad cheeks, should anguish bid one flow, 

As thine ? Will he, to whom my vows are given, 
Bear with my weakness, as thyself hath borne, 

And love me when youth's blooming chain is riven, 
When rose tints from my lips and cheeks are torn, 

When in the black folds of my shining hair 
Time spins a thread of white, to mark his way. 

And leaves his foot prints on my forehead fair. 
And dims my eyes, and chills my heart? Oh say. 

Will he still love me ? 

Brothers, fare-ye-well ! 
Thou with the gentle brow and thoughtful eye, 

O'er whose soft light two heavy tear-drops swell, 
As if ye feared that those mysterious ties 

Might win my love from thee, from all 
Who blest my infancy, my girlhood's light. 

My woman's heart. Words, tears, cannot recall 
A wandering bird, that seeks a home more bright 

Far o'er some sunny wave in eastern climes, 
A fancied rest, which dreams had told would last 

Where soft leaves rustled like a thousand chimes. 
And blossoms waved secure from storm and blast. 

But, brother ! clouds may dim the shining sky. 
And tempests plough wild furrows on the wave. 

And the poor bird, that soared so joyously 
As if its flight would reach where star-gems pave 

The walls of Heaven, droops on its weary wing, 
Closes its aching eyes, till tossed from blast 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 63 

To blast— it faints— then struggles hard to fling 
Its broken pinions on the air — at last, 

Quivering and dying, with a riven heart. 
Falls quick into the stormy waves beneath, 

Crushed — cold — and dead. 

And this is woman's part, 
Too oft in life, to act. Oh softly breathe 
( . Upon the blossom of a woman's love, 
' My brother ! if in after years, some soul 

May fondly cling to thine. In honor, prove 
A MAN, nor, with the mysteries untold 

Of woman's first affection slighting play ; 
For, boy ! they twist around the chords of life ; 
Crush them, and life itself then wears away, 
Unable to endure the sickening strife 
Of this world's pitying scorn. 

I'd rather see 
Thee in thy coffined shroud — than know that thou 

Would'st live for ends so foul — upon my knee, 
I'd bless my God, and kiss thy pallid brow 

And thank high heaven for saving thee from sin 
Like this, a sin, for which thy sister's lip 

Could curse thee with an evil prayer, and din 
Thine ears with cutting words, that thou might'st sip, 

Unto its nauseous dregs, the bitter cup 
Thyself had mixed upon the altar-stone — 

On which a broken heart was offered up. 
O'er which the blighted buds of life were strewn. 



64 



FLOWERS OF 



And now, young brother— thou, the beautiful, 

Farewell ! Thy blue veined brow and eagle eye, 

And bounding heart, with life and hope are full. 
And up, thy buoyant spirit soars on high. 

To drink in gladness. Thou hast been to me 
A waymark bright in Life's dim w^ilderness, 

By which I measured years and love. 

I see 
Thine eye's soft lashes resting on thy cheek. 

Like a dark raven's plume, while stealing through 
Their prisoned grief, tears, slowly gushing, speak 

Big eloquence of wo — Thy forehead's blue 
And tender veins swell out, and flushing strange, 

Pass o'er thy face, telling most plain, of strife 
Within thy little heart, which this \vorld's change 

Hath yet no power to crush ! Oh, may thy days. 
My sweet young brother, be to thee a spring, 

In life's dull holiday, with rainbow rays 
Spanning thy grief, and hope's bright wing. 

High o'er their arch. 

Almighty God ! now bless 
This parting hour ! 

Perchance the doom of death 
Will spread its heavy veil above my breast 
Ere we all meet again, and every breath. 
Which tells its minute watch, be breathed upon 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 



65 



A stranger's cheek — or they perchance may fall 
Asleep, within the bourne. Oh holy One ! 

May thy approving voice, each spirit call, 

To smile together, round thy throne in Heaven, 

Unfearing and secure, 'mid hosts forgiven ! 




TO A DOVE. 

Not where the spheres to low, soft music, move ; 

Or Indian seas their golden islands kiss, 
I'd fly, had I thy gentle wings, oh dove, 

To seek a kinder, better land than this ! 
For still, amid their Eden scenes of light. 

Tears gush, and trusting hearts are slowly broken. 
And the young rose-leaf but conceals a blight. 

And kindly thoughts are crushed, ere they are spoken. 
Not here, O dove, upon life's troubled sea. 

Where wild ambition wars man's truth away; 
Where cherished hopes, like sunlight on a grave, 

But mark the altar of their sure decay. 

Had I thy wings, how gladly would I soar 

Far, far beyond the starry paths of heaven. 
Until I basked on that eternal shore 

Where earth's redeemed their golden harps are given; 
But, ah ! how vain to sigh for wings like thine ; 

Life still demands the tribute of our woe, 
Our drooping hopes — our broken hearts to twine 

In coronals to deck, death's pallid brow ; 
But when the valley's shadow hath been past, 

The soul by mortal sorrow long opprest 
Will calmly float far o'er the stormy blast, 

And find repose upon her Saviour's breast. 



THE LAST BLESSING.* 

He lay, with death's pale shadow on his brow, 
That man of God, and as his eyes grew dim 
And pallid tints now settled round his lips, 
Which ever moved in prayer, his thin white hands 
Wherein was freezing life's warm current fast, 
Clasped lovingly upon his aching breast. 
The image of the Crucified. 

There was 
A silent hush in the dark room, save when 
A smothered sob broke on the listening ear. 
Or when, with whispered prayer, some saintly hand 
With trembling fingers counted Aves on 
The holy beads, or when with ringing sound 
A blest medallion to a decade linked. 
Whereon was graven fair the Virgin's form, 
Fell through their grasp. 

Grief, bitter grief, was there! 
But in Death's solemn presence it was still. 
Invisible to us, bright angels hung 
Within the entrance of the valley's shade, 
While guarding well the portals of the tomb, 



* This touching scene really occurred a few years ago in this city at 
the death-bed of one of our most exemplary clergymen. 



68 FLOWERSOF 

Hope sat with far off sunshine on her head, 
And Faith, with her immortal cincture girt. 
Watched smilingly to cheer his troubled soul 
As it approached the goal. 

Old men were there, 
And children, with bright curls o'er fair young brows ; 
And mothers, whom he oft had counselled well, 
And guided ever to their home above ; 
And in their sombre robes and drooping veils, 
St. Vincent's holy daughters too — all— all 
Had come to kneel in reverence down, once more 
To hear his much loved voice, and feel his hand 
In sacred benediction on their heads ! 

And now a form, much more than passing fair. 
With noiseless step glides past, and by his side 
Kneels lowly down, and with fast falling tears 
Anoints his death-cold hand. 

Tho' stately she, 
And floating on the goldfen tide of wealth. 
Her poor young heart had drank deep bitter draughts 
From Life's mixed stream ! 

Earth's envy, with its dim, 
Unholy stains, had clouded o'er her sky. 
But marred not its high purity, arid she. 
Along a path of tears, had found the cross ! 



"Father! oh Father! bless me ere you die 



f" 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 69 

He turned his dying eyes on that fair face, 

Uplift in tears to his imploringly, 

And as he thought of all her secret pangs 

And hidden tears! and how, with trusting faith. 

In trial's hour, her heart had nobly clung 

Unto its cross, and bore with patience high 

Its all of agony ! how in the gloom 

Which shaded o'er the spring of her young life, 

Instead of healing up her bruised heart 

With earth's poor vanity, she humbly came 

And laid it, bleeding with its wrongs and woes. 

At Jesus' feet ; he gently laid his hand 

Upon her head, and calling in his thoughts 

Once more from heavenly things, he uttered words 

In tones most clear and strong, that all might hear 

The consolation which he offered her, 

Ere yet he passed from Life's dim shore away ; 

Bless thee, my child ! 
Yes! with my dying lips I bless thee, 

While my life is ebbing fast! 
AH that could dismay — distress thee- — 

May it from thy spirit pass. 

Bless thee, my child ! 
Purer than those who would revile thee. 

Is thy soul still struggling on ; 
Cheer thee, then, earth can't defile thee, 

On — and heaven will soon be won. 



70 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 

Bless thee, my child ! 
Father, enthroned on high, watch o'er her; 

Angels guard my sacred trust; 
Oh Jesus ! through thy blood, restore her, 

When she rises from the dust ; 

Back — back to heaven 
Where sad tears will flow, oh never! 

Where the brow is crowned with peace, 
Where the weary rest for ever. 

Where all WTongs — all anguish cease ! 

Bless thee, my child ! 
Pray ! and God will still befriend thee 

By his grace until life's close. 
Virgin Mother will defend thee 

From thy spirit's direst foes. 

She passed forth from the darkened room again. 
With more of hope within her w^eary heart 
Than she had known for many a long — long day ; 
And when once more she came, the tongue which spoke 
Such blessed words, and with fast failing breath 
Bade her good cheer, was stilled in death for aye. 



THE TWINS. 

Like fragrant roses on one stem, 

They blossomed, lived and grew; 
The sunshine fell alike on them, 

The star-light, and the dew ; 
Their voices filled the air with glee 

Beside the shining rill, 
And where the heather waving free. 

Gleamed on the distant hill. 

At eventide they brought fair flowers. 

And blossoms rare and sweet, 
And threw them down in fragrant showers 

Around their Mother's feet ; 
And while the regal sunset dyed 

With gold the woods and vine, 
They wove rich garlands by her side 

To deck the Virgin's shrine. 

Their lips had touched the sparkling rim 

Of life's high foaming bowl. 
Nor dreamed they that a shadow dim 

Could o'er its brightness roll. 
On each young heart, like rain-bow hues, 

Fell visions steeped in light, 
Like rays reflected in a stream 

From holy stars at night. 



72 FLOWERS OF 

And their young mother's earnest eye 

Watched daily round their path, 
With glances where unfathoraed lie 

Loves which no other hath ; 
And when she parted from each brow, 

Their shining curls at night, 
She dreamed not that their cheeks' soft glow 

Could wither, or grow white. 

Alas for her ! too fair for earth 

Was their rich beauty's bloom ; 
They heard strange music by their hearth : 

The angels called them home. 
And then like blighted flowers they drooped 

And withered by her side, 
She prayed — she wept — she vainly hoped — 

She saw them w hen they died ! 

She laid their little limbs to rest — 

How will such love expand ! — 
And scattered roses on their breast ; 

How could a stranger's hand 
As tenderly move round her dead ? 

Could e'er a stranger's eyes 
Distil such drops as hers had shed 

Through those wild agonies ? 

No old escutcheon's storied pride, 
Or waving plumes were there. 

Or gorgeous velvet plumes to hide 
An inlaid silver bier. 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 73 

No solemn music, sad and low, 

Came stealing- round her dead, 
Or incense, waving to and fro. 

Its spicy odors shed. 

But from the open door there came 

A sound of forest trees. 
And drowsily the wild bee's hum 

Chimed on the scented breeze ; 
And as they lay — those Cherubs fair — 

Like marble effigies, 
A gleam of sunset wandered there. 

Like life-stars o'er their eyes. 

Haply for them, no mortal stain 

Could o'er their spirits brood ; 
For, far away from priest and fane, 

Was this deep solitude ; 
Only a few rough hearts dwelt near, 

Rough hearts, with kindly hands ; 
And they, with many a falling tear, 
Closed up the coffin bands. 

They laid them where the locust flowers 
Amid the green leaves hide. 
Where white leaves fall in fragrant showers — 
Close by their Father's side. 



LINES 

On hearing the Litany of the Blessed Virgin sung 
AT St. Mary's Chapel, Baltimore. 

The day was waning, and I stood alone 
Within a holy place. The solemn style 
Of ancient ages, reigned throughout the pile ! 
High gothic windows, with their diamond glass — ^ 
Arch, within painted arch, and cornice carved, 
With skill elaborate ; with mysterious lore 
Told wond'rous tales of days gone by, and breathed 
Religious thought, o'er things inanimate, 
Until, they seemed to glow with living beams ! 
The rose-leaf hue, of fading light stole in 
Through crimson draperies, making rich gloom 
Around the solemn altar, and long aisle ; 
And bathed the fluted pillars, like a mist 
Kissed by the setting sun — ^one single ray, 
From the far western sky, where folds on folds 
Of glory lay, in gorgeous piles, streamed through 
A lofty window, and like some bright gleam, 
From seraph's wing, or cherub's brow lit up 
The cross, on which, in chiseled agony, 
The " Man of Sorrows " hung. 

My soul was still, 
Save when the unseen spirit, gently breathed 
Sweet thoughts of contrite tears, and stirred its deep 



FLOWERS OP LOVE AND MEMORY. 75 

With hopes of heavenly birth, which like the beam 
Of splendor on the cross, illumed the wave, 
That often tosses roughly, the frail barque 
That bears us o'er life's sea. 

But footsteps rouse 
Me from my spirit's calm, and worshippers — 
The old man, with Time's hoar-frost on his brow — 
The woman bowed with years — the maiden, youth 
And fair haired child, in meek simplicity, 
Kneel silently before their God, while tones 
Of solemn music, roll in cadence sweet, 
From the soft organ's peal. The white robed priest, 
In reverent awe, bows humbly down 
Before the mercy seat, where shrined in love 
The spotless Lamb, dwells 'neath the mystic veil. 
Kyrie Eleison ! softly 'tis intoned ! 
The first — best prayer, our sinful hearts can breathe, 
Unto a sinless God ! 

Again it peals ! 
Kyrie Eleison ! 

Awful splendors round thee stealing, 
Flashing glory through the skies. 

Seraph forms, before thee kneeling, 

Veil their faces from thine eyes. 

Christe Eleison ! 
'Mid the harp-notes round thee swelling. 

And the loud hosanna's tone: 
Hear us from thy holy dwelling, 

Let our cries come near thy throne. 



76 FLOWERSOF 

Spiritus Sancte ! 
Gently o'er our spirits brooding ! 

Token of our Father's love ! 
Bathed in light around thee flooding, 

Calm our troubled hearts, oh dove ! 

•Sancta Maria! 
By the Saviour's birth-place holy, 

By the new-born eastern beams, 
By the Chaldean watchers lowly. 

Roused by angels from their dreams ! 

Ora pro nobis ! 
Pray sweet mother, — gently pleading 

For us — wanderers through Life's gloom. 
Be our beacon — brightly leading 

Us to worlds beyond the tomb. 

Ora pro nobis ! 
JVot to save us from the weary 

Steps along the rugged way, 
Or to turn aside the dreary 

Cloud, that sometimes dims life's day ! 

Ora pro nobis ! 
That our spirits meekly scorning 

All the pains and ills of earth. 
Humbly wait the blessed dawning, 

Of a new celestial birth. 



LOVE AND MEMORY 



77 



Ave Maria ! 
Shadows o'er the hill are stealing, 

Gloom is on the quiet glen, 
Hear us, mother, lowly kneeling — 

Bless our contrite tears — Amen ! 

The prayer was ended, and the shades of night 

Shed gloom, and dimness, through the holy place, 

Save where two tapers burned upon the shrine. 

And the undying lamp sent mildly forth 

Its mellow rays — Yea, all was dimness there 

Unto the outward eye, but to the eye 

That never sleeps, an angel's calm, lit up 

The soul's interior cells, and hope's bright wing 

Made all else radiant with the light of heaven. 




7* 



THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO! 

In the land of merrie England, 

Three hundred years ago, 
The bells were rung, and the mass was sung, 
And the cross o'er hill and valley still 

Gleamed forth triumphantly ! 

Like pearls o'er merrie England, 

Her pleasant vales among, 
Rose convent domes, and holy homes, 
Where saintly forms, hid from life's storms, 

God's love for ever sung ! 

The poor of merrie England ! 

Were they down-trodden then ? 
Did famine gaunt their homesteads haunt 
To blight the flowers that decked their bowers. 

And crush God's creatures — men ? 

The convents of old England, 

Three hundred years ago. 
Kept open door for the hungry poor. 
And quiet sweet for the weary feet 

Of pilgrim, high or low ! 



And in those golden ages, 

The peasant by his lord. 
The king in pride, by his noble's side. 
In humble mood, before the rood. 
The sacred host adored. 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 79 

And when towards the dyin^ 

Viaticum was borne, * 
By priestly trains, with solemn strains 
Of anthem's swell and silvery bell, 

At night, or early morn. 

Forth came the noble barons. 

With humbled steps, and slow, 
While many a dame and peasant came, 
With lighted torch, to join the march, 

And chaunt the Tantum Er&o. 

•■ Christ's holy Virgin Mother 

Was honored through the land, 
Her image crowned, or richly bound 
With gems and gold, in many a fold, 

Placed there by pilgrim hand. 

And wrought on knightly banners, 

" Auspice Maria " shone, 
Which hovered bright over the stormy fight 
Where, like a flood, streamed gentle blood 

To save the king and throne ! 

Throughout the land of England, 

Laudate Dominum, 
And Glorias were sung in choirs, 
And prayers were said for the saintly deadj 

All' souls in faith were one ! 

* In speaking of the adorable sacrament, as administered to the sick, 
the terms, " the viaticum,'^ or " the holy viaticum," are properly used ; 
may not one, however, with all due reverence for the dignity of the 
theme, be pardoned for taking advantage of the poet's license ? 



80 FLOWERS OF 

But o'er the land of England, 

Three hundred years ago, 
A whirlwind passed — it felt the blast, 
And hoi}' fanes, and martyrs' manes. 

Lay in wild ruin low ! 

Alas ! for merrie England, 

And her old ancestral tombs. 
Where censers swung, when the mass was sung, 
And anthems rose, for the soul's repose, 

Where lay the victor's plumes. 

Above the victor sleeping. 

With the red cross on his breast, 
Where saintly shrines, of her kingly lines. 
And the rich tombs o'er her queens of yore, 
Lay low like all the rest. 

In the land of merrie England, 

Three hundred years ago, 
The bells were rung, and the mass was sung. 
And the cross o'er hill and valley still. 

Gleamed forth triumphantly. 

PART II. 

Three hundred years have glided. 

Like phantoms to their tomb. 
And eyes that wept, o'er the faith that slept, 
Grow glad and bright, in the dawning light. 

Laudate Dominum ! 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 81 

O'er all the land are floating 

The notes of ancient lays, 
And gothic piles, where arch and aisles, 

With altars fair, and rood-lofts rare, 
Faith's noble scions raise ! 

Who with true hearts and loyal. 

Bear old historic names,* 
Where the prayers of grace, in the holy mass, 
From early day, to the vesper lay, 

Bless all the wide domains. 

Like homeward doves returning, 

Old England's gifted sons 
Up Calvary's path, to the ancient faith 
Return to rest, on her sheltering breast, 

Where rest her martyred ones ! 

From many a holy cloister 

Sweet t^lleluias flow, 
Matins and JYonc, in solemn tone, ^ 

Exulting chime, like the olden time, 

Three hundred years ago. 

The cross gleams like a blessing 
O'er all the pleasant isle. 



* See the late accounts of the magnificent church of St. Giles, erected 
at the sole expense of the Earl of Shrewsbury, in the town of Cheadle, 
England. 



82 



FLOWERS OP LOVE AND MEMORY. 



And rapture sweet, at Mary's feet, 
O'er the pilgrim steals, as he lowly kneels. 
To rest and pray the while. 

God bless thee, merrie England ! 

Hope's day-stars softly burn, 
And faith's sad plaints, o'er the isle of saints. 
Grow faint and low, in the dazzling glow. 

As the olden times return ! 




GONE FOR EVER.* 

Lo, THE sad midnight watch has just crept on, 
And mourners, with their wildly stricken hearts. 
Kneel round their dead. The taper's fitful light, 
A trembling shadow flings athwart the bier. 
And quivers on the still folds of the shroud, 
As if the quick breath of a sleeper stirred 
Beneath — But all was still ; the pallid hue 
Of death had settled on his solemn brow. 
And dimmed for aye the loving eyes, and pressed 
Its marble tint upon his gentle lips; 
And all that looked like life, was the dark hair 
Which lay in glossy waves on his white brow. 
As it was wont, when the blue veins beneath. 
Throbbed with each peaceful breath ! 

And there he slept ! 
While burning tears, and wildly uttered prayers. 
Would fain have called that noble spirit back, 
With all its generous truth and impulse high. 
To light the. temple, which its vig'rous wings 
In their wild efforts to be freed from earth, 
Had made a shattered ruin for the dust, 
And its decay, and man's forgetfulness. 



* Inscribed to the memory of Dr. Wm. IN. Baker, a late Professor in 
the Medical University of Maryland. Distinguished by his unusual 
talents among his companions, he was stricken down in the noon-tide 
of life, in their midst, regretted much by all who knew and under- 
stood the true and generous nobility of his soul. 



84 FLOWERSOP 

Gone for ever! 
From life's anguish and its dreaming, 

From its fitful scenes of dread ; 
From its noontide o'er him gleaming, 

Gone — to slumber with the dead. 
From the friends, whose love caressed him ;- 

And the lonely household hearth, 
Hears no more the sounds that blessed him, 

'Mid its gentle smiles of mirth ! 

Gone for ever ! 
All is hushed amid their weeping, 

Bitter tears their heart-strings burn, 
Blighted hopes are coldly sleeping 

On his bosom's silent urn. 
Stricken down amid life's glory. 

Ere his spirit claimed its height ; 
Hidden from fame's gorgeous story 

By the shadow of death's night ! 

Tears are falling ! 
Those on whom the world's cold scorning. 

Fell with its undying hate. 
He had cheered amid their mourning, 

When their souls were desolate. 
May their prayers to God ascending. 

With the friendless orphan's cry. 
Go, like angel guards attending, 

To his far eternity ! 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 85 

Gone for ever ! 
Let each heart that knew, deplore him — 

Soon the earth receives her trust, 
Oh gently, let its breath pass o'er him, 
When he slumbers in the dust. 

The w^eary hours of night passed on, and stars 

Grew pale, in the new light of coming day. 

And soon the streets were thronged, with busy men, ' 

And sounds of mirth, and words of careless glee, 

Which fell upon the hearts of those who watched 

Beside their dead, like bitter waters on 

A festering wound ! ^ 

The coffin lid was sealed. 
And then with solemn tread, and hearts bow'd down 
With grief, and eyes that sent forth many a tear 
O'er manly cheeks, they bore him to his rest. 




THE VESPER STAR. 

Hail Ihou supreme and omnipresent Power, 
Who, self-existent, rulest the realms of space ; 
Thou undivided Three, enshrined in light 
And mystery, before whose face the host 
Of shining heaven, in their dazzling robes, 
Bow down in adoration of thy grace ; — 
All praise to thee that mortal tongue can sing. 

Behind yon battlement of golden clouds 

The sun-crowned day declines in majesty, 

Scatt'ring its gifts of light upon each tree 

Within the solemn forest's shade, — spreading 

A diamond glitterance o'er every wave 

Which ripples o'er the river's breast. They chime 

In gently whispering notes, and melt along 

The sandy shore, like a sweet messenger 

Who holds communion 'twixt the glorious skies 

And beautiful, though sin-polluted earth. 

The swelling anthems of the music birds 

Now die away, while ever and anon 

One, on whose little nest the gilded light 

Slants down, lifts up its shining head and tells 

A thrilling note of melody, which winds 

Through sinuous shades until the cadence sinks 

Like silent thought away. 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 87 

How peaceful now, 
How calm and blessed looks the smiling world, 
As if the doom of sin lurk'd not wathin 
Its glowing scenes, — as if the seeds of death 
Sprung not amid its fairest buds, — as if 
The serpent's trail were not concealM beneath 
Its gladdest paths ; and thou, oh thoughtless man ! 
Forgetful of all else except thyself, 
Dost dare to turn above a skeptic's eye, 
Or lift in pride, like the vain Pharisee, 
A self-conceited good tq Heaven. 

Gloom 
Spreads a shadow o'er the earth, and silence 
Broods above the solitude, while through 
The forest dim a sound like a wild dirge. 
With fitful harmonies, and tone subdued 
Is sadly heard. 

My soul now feels 
Her bitterness, and almost dreams she sees 
Death's signet visible. She turns within 
Her narrow cell, and seeks to hide from wo, 
And sin sought out and nurtur'd by herself. 
But ah, in vain — the spark of Deity 
Which goodness might have fann'd into a blaze 
Of noon-day light, tho' almost quench'd by sin. 
Sheds a faint glow-worm lustre o'er the gloom. 
Revealing all its horrid stains. 



5 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 

Oh God ! 
Is this creation of thy might, this world, 
Which thou didst form in wisdom infinite, 
Unloos'd from its deep moorings in thy love — 
Cast forth upon a sea of guilt and sin. 
To battle with the storms until a wreck 
Floats back to thy eternal shore ? 

To Heaven 
In wondering sorrow my sad eyes were rais'd — 
There, mid a flood of roseate softness, shone 
The Vesper Star. That beacon light, above 
The far-off crystal gates which bound the skies, 
That isle where blessed spirits love to rest, 
When sent from Heaven to earth, to guard 
The ways of men, and carry back reports 
Of good. Its beams reproached my faithless heart- 
I thought of the new eastern star, once seen 
Of old by shepherds — of the lowly place 
To which it guided them — the Child Divine, 
The promised light of everlasting day. 
I saw in it a type of Mercy's birth 
And peace ineffable, as 'mid&t the twilight gloom 
It calmly beamed, the herald of the skies 
Which ushers in the constellated stars 
And radiant moon. 

I wiped a falling tear 
And blessed the Vesper Star. 



THE DEAD PONTIFF.* 

Morn on the hills of Rome ; light on her graves ! 

Her Christian fanes, her ruins and her founts, 

Which whisper dreamy sounds, gleam through the mist ! 

The last bright star hath paled on night's fair brow, 

While from the orient gates of light steal forth. 

One after one, a train of shadowy gems; 

And golden bordered clouds, which the bright dawn 

Hath frescoed with a splendid crimson tinge, 

And softly shaded with a regal hue. 

The fragrant dew still hangs, in pendant gems, 

Upon each spray, or in the lily's cup, 

Hides deep, like pearl drops 'neath a bridal veil. 

Or, trembling, fall like fragments of a star, 

As from their nests the birds spring forth to sing 

Their matin hymn. 

Like waves of burnished gold, 
The Tiber's waters sweep its reedy banks, 
Making low music ! 

At a lowly shrine. 
Beneath the shadow of th' imperial hills. 
Kneel peasant maidens at their orisons, 
And toil-worn shepherds, with their hardy hands 
elapsed meekly, while their eyes, with hope uplift 
To the SWEET Mother of our Lord, within 

* Gregory xvi. 



90 FLOWERSOF 

Think in their simple faith, the marble smiles, 

When the bright wreath of summer buds, which hang 

Upon her brow, stirs in th"e morning wind. 

Creation smiles, and dreams of Eden's vale, 

While the soft music of her golden spheres 

Rolls on with more seraphic cadences. 

As the morn's flashing beams fall on each cross 

Reared high on Rome's Basilicas, until 

They glance, like sapphires, on the walls of heaven ; 

Or gems, plucked from an angel's crown, which God 

Hath set thereon to mark his own. 

Below, 
The crumbling Coliseum, and old fanes, 
Where sacrifice was offered to the gods 
In olden time, are wrapped in gilded mists, 
Which cast a glory o'er their slow decay. 

Rome's ancient ways, her streets of palaces 

Begin to throng with life, but lo ! the air 

Is burdened with the solemn chime of bells, 

And men walk forth with mournful steps and slow. 

No joyful greetings part their lips with smiles; 

But clasping silently each other's hands, 

They sternly glide along. 

And tears are there, 
Amid that manly throng, which men care not 
To hide. 

Long sombre trains of cowled monks, 
With folded hands, and heads bowed down, pass by, 
And de ProfuncUs chant in wailing tones, 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 91 

Instead of Sancta dei Genetrix. 

The lofty windows of the Quirinal 

Are closed, while, floating from its turrets high, 

The banner of the triple crown droops round 

Its staff in gorgeous folds, and shrouds in gold 

Its rich insignia; while sentries grim 

March with their arms reversed, — -for death hath been 

Within, and stricken down a shining mark. 

The sovereign lord of Rome, the mighty head 

Of the great church on earth, God's chosen one, 

His power vice-regal o'er his children's faith. 

The father of the poor — the friend of all — 

Hath passed from the dim shore of life away, 

And left fair lustre in its shadowy sands 

Where'er his footsteps fell. 

His regal robes 
Fell lightly o'er his saintly heart ; the gems 
That burned like stars upon his earthly crown 
Shone on a brow, which long had yearned to rest 
Its wearied pulses at his Master's feet. 

Solemn and slow, an hundred mighty bells 
Heave to and fro, and organ notes steal forth 
In mournful requiem, while white robed priests 
Swing from their golden urns pale, fragrant clouds 
Of burning spices, as his hallowed clay. 
Upon its jewelled bier, is slowly borne 
Alon^, to rest where he was wont to pray. 
The princes of the church, her croziered lords, 
Her learned fathers, and her saintly monks. 



92 F L O W E R S O F 

Throng the funeral train, and sadly chant 
The solemn dirge, while music soft and low 
Burdens the air: 

Slowly and mournfully, 
Through the arched door of the cathedral old,* 
O'er mosaic floors, through spacious aisles bound in 
By polished marble shafts ; past altars rich, 
Gleaming with jewelled stars, by sculptured saints 
And golden cherubim, whose pearly wings 
Seem trembling, as the softened light sweeps down 
Through wreaths of incense, from the lofty dome ; 
They bear him on, the saintly lord of Rome — 
And while the stifled sob from manly hearts, 
And sighs from woman's lips, blend in wild tones 
With the loud organ's mighty requiem, 
They lay his reverend form most gently down 
Before the altar of the Sacred Host.f 
The crowd throng on — the vassal with his lord — 
Then came low uttered words, and as they knelt 
To press their lips upon his way-worn feet. 
Thus plaintively bewailed : 

" Thou the mighty ! 
The faithful shepherd of our wandering souls : 
The leader of God's armies through earth's wild ; 
Our father, and our friend, could death have found 
No lower mark than thee? 

Thy years were full 
Of high brave-hearted deeds, and saintly acts. 
And generous labors for thy people's good, 

* St. Peter's. t The chapel of the Blessed Sacrament. 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 93 

Which, when onr heads lie low in dust, will stand 
Through ages yet to come, like way-marks fair, 
Along the shore of time. 

Lowly and meek ! 
Thy triple crown, thy sovereign state, thy robes 
Of regal woof, were less than naught to thee. 
Save for their high prerogative, which gave 
Thee clement power, and dauntless will 
To shield the contrite, and th' oppressed defend. 
Thy spirit's w^ays, unseen by all save God, 
Shed its own halo round thy daily path. 
While the still pressure of its unshod feet, 
Sought out the hallowed footsteps of thy Lord 
Up Calvary's holy steep. 

Laid low ! laid low 
The solemn beauty of thy aged brow, 
And closed those heaven-lit eyes, which erst flashed forth 
The lightning fires of a father's wrath 
On a rude despot,* who had dared to come 
Before thee, with thy martyred children's blood 
In tell-tale stains amid the costly gems 
Of his imperial robe. 

Thy arms^of love, 
Open to all the world, were closed to him. 
The dastard scion of a royal line; 
Thy lips, so used to prayer and gentle words. 
That no rude lines made harsh impressions there. 
Poured forth such bitter truths, and told such tales 

♦The Emperor of Russia, 



94 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MExMORY. 

Of vile, dark deeds, wrought by his minions bold ; 
That he, the lord of countless slaves, whose nod 
Made rulers, or filled up unholy graves — 
Who ne'er had trembled at a mortal's word- — 
Grew pale, and quailed, and cOwered silently 
At the majestic mien thy age put on. 
Alas ! 'twas but life's last upflashing spark — 
Atid thou didst die — our shepherd and our guide ! 
Shall we behold no more thy sacred hands 
Uplift the white veiled Lamb of God ? — no more 
Thy blessing share on holy festival ? 

No more, no more ! thy pilgrimage is done ! 

In yon fair land of peace — the angels' home — 

The kingdom of thy God, thy wearied soul 

For ever folds its wings, for ever rests ! 

For ever— for ever — rests — for ever !" 

In low sweet cadences, in solmen tones 

And voices rich with faith's own melody, 

They echoed back the words, for ever — rests— 

Until it seemed as if the white-winged dov.e 

Of the celestial king descended there 

And breathed high strains of peace— of rest — for ever. 




THE CONVERT. 

" Our daughter has recovered; she is rescued from death ; but alas she 
has become a Catholic V'—My Father's Letter. 

Oh, Father ! when the spark of life 

Was dimly, coldly beaming, 
And on death's shore the chilly waves 

About my feet were gleaming — 
When sweet affections could not cheer 

My heart's wild tribulation, ^ 
God in his love sent angels down 

To whisper consolation. 

Alas ! the dreary gloom that came, 

Around my heart o'ershading, 
Alas! for childhood's earth-born "creed, 

How dim its hopes were fading. 
Oh Father ! 'twas an hour when truth 

From mortal ties was riven, 
And left my spirit free to clasp ^ 

The golden hopes of heaven. 

Then angels led me to a cross 

With halos round it stealing, 
While at its foot with brow serene, 

A form of light was kneeling ; 
Within her arms were borne like lambs 

The rescued from Life's w^eeping, 
And on her breast in calm repose, 

The martyred saints were sleeping. 



96 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 

How madly o'er the holy spot 

The tempests wild were rushing, 
While from above through shade and storm, 

A stream of light was gushing, 
And there I saw Hope's shining brow, 

And Faith eternal given ; 
And wearied, starving souls, receive 

Bread which came down from heaven. 

Father ! I knelt, and veiled my eyes 

In trusting adoration. 
For I had found amid life's waste, 

The rock of my salvation. 
How sweetly rests my wearied soul. 

Where rescued from life's weeping, 
The fainting sons of earth repose 

Where martyred saints are sleeping. 




AN OLD ROMAUNCE. 

O'er Waldo's towers stern and old, 

Which frowned upon their rocky height, 
The sunbeams through a mist of gold 

Came floating like a dream of light; 
The moss-grown walls, the turrets hung 

With darkling leaves of ivy vine, 
The ruined tower where owlets clung, 

In festive splendor seemed to shine ; 
While the low murmur of the seas — 

The rustling of the forests dim, 
Kept time melodious with the breeze 

Which chaunted soft its vesper hymn, 
And floating, where in sullen mood 

The lordly banner downward swept, 
Spread out upon the sunset flood 

Those folds, where shame had never wept, 
Whose silvery sheen, whose azure bars 

In battle strife, or wild foray. 
Had marshalled on like morning stars 

Old Waldo's lords to glory's day. 
But all was still, no thrilling shout 

Of armed retainers met the ear, 
No stirring battle cry rung out, 

No clang of arms, or words of cheer ; 
9 



98 FLOWERSOF 

But moving on with solemn tread 

One yeoman paced the walls alone, 
While motionless as are the dead 

One paused upon the bridge of stone ; 
And leaning on his rusty arms 

Gazed on the dreary moat below, 
While mem'ry with her thousand charms 

Beguiled his heart of thoughtful woe : 
He -dreamed of well earned victories 

Beneath Lord Waldo's standard won, 
He thought of all the high emprize 

And loyal deeds of sire and son, 
And how^, when w^ith their victor train 

They homeward turned with many a spoil, 
Their honor still without a stain, 

To rest, as soldiers rest from toil ; 
He thought of all the noble mirth 

Which filled those ancient halls with light, 
Of songs beside the castle hearth, 

Of barons bold, and ladies bright. 
When Waldo bore his gentle bride 

From southern lands to grace his home, 
Whose beamy eyes sought not to hide 

Tlie joy which lit her beauty's bloom ; 
And how in tilt or tourney gay. 

In hawking revel, or beside 
The bed where some poor colter lay, 

Or kneeling in the chapel dim, — 
She told the beads which pilgrim hand 
Brought from the sepulchre of Him 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 99 

Who meekly died in Holy Land; 

Or when she wandered slowly forth 
With Waldo on the ocean shore, 

She bloomed as sweetly in the north, 
And hung upon its ancient lore 

With faith and pride in all he told 
Of battle rout and border fray. 

Of legends wild and barons bold 
Of elfin haunts in ruins gray — 

As where the southern roses fall. 
And gladness made where'er she trod — 

In lordly court or castle hall 
All blessed her in the name of God. 

While thus the yeoman dreamed alone, 

Night's shadows had the day absorbed. 
And o'er the dewy earth now shone 

The pearly moon in glory orbed; 
The stark old towers looked dim and drear, 

The lonely owl shrieked forth her woes, 
The beagle howled in mortal fear 

And started echo from repose, 
But still in memory's dreams the while 

The yeoman would have revelled on 
Had not a page with mal'pert smile 

Strode o'er the lonely bridge of stone, 
And bowing with fine mockery 

In mincing accents called his name. 
Then peering in old Roderick's eye. 

And plucking without blush of shame 



100 FLOWERS OF 

The locks which o'er his shoulders hung, 

Cried, " ho ! old sleeper, dost thou dream ?" 
One start — one bound^ — one shout which rung 

In echoes wild o'er vale and stream, 
And Roderick grasped the childish thing. 

But when he saw beneath the moon 
The boy with terror quivering, 

And heard him humbly cry '' a boon ! 
Good Roderick grant my life to me, 

I'll never pluck thy beard again, 
I'll never more be rude to thee, 

Or whisper aught to give thee pain !" 
" Thou /" growled old Roderick, " is it thou 9 

Methought it was some elfin sprite, 
Hence, or my stalwart arm will throw 

Thee, in yon moat to sleep to-night !" 

" Nay ! nay, good Roderick, I but came 

To bear my lady's word to thee — 
And if I trifled do but blame 

The elfin sprite which ruleth me; — 
The lady Ida all the day 

Hath talked of our departed lord, 
And wiled the dreary hours away 

By tears, and many a mournful word, 
While I — methought some wizard's wand 

Had changed me to an owlet grave ; 
I moped and sighed, I vainly conned 

My lute notes o'er. I watched yon wave 
Until I longed — yea longed to fly — 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 101 

To swim — to laugh — to dance — to shout — 
But tears flowed from my lady's eye, 

And I, leaned down my head — to pout, 
When she — I love my lady fair — 

Bade me come hither at full speed 
And say, good Roderick leave thy lair — 

Thy post — and follow where I lead !" 

'' No doubt," quoth Roderick:, " thou art bold 

Jkid while I leave my post awhile, 
Pace here and there, watch yonder hold 

And tell thy beads the time to wile ; 
And mark me, boy, I've seen this night 

Strange phantoms passing to and fro, 
Some clad in mail, some clad in white. 

Some bright and gay, some pale and slow ; 
Then say thy Paters, decades tell. 

Our Lady's grace and aid implore 
To ward away the solemn spell 

Until the midnight hour is o'er, 
ril hie me to our lady's bower 

And weep with her our absent lord — 
These eyes looked on his natal hour — 

These hands girt on his maiden sword.'" 
Old Roderick paused — a tear unhid 

Fell on the furrows of his face. 
His rough dark hand the jewel hid, 

Then dashed it from its resting place. 
" Oh brave good master, leave me not," 
The frightened page now vainly cried, 



102 FLOWERS OF 

"I fear this wild and haunted spot, 

'Twas here the robber chieftain died, 
When pressed, like a poor wounded hound 

By raging beasts, he turned at bay. 
Then leaping with a sudden bound — 

His corse beneath yon waters lay — 
I'll die — ril faint — God grant me grace — 

Oh, Roderick, bind me not so fast. 
Or stay — just stay in this drear place 

Until the weird-wild hour is past !'^ 
But Roderick with his stalwart arm 

Had bound him to a column stone. 
And heeding not his wild alarm 

Stalked on his moonlight path alone. 



PART II. 

Within a bower rich and rare. 

With gems and silks and vases decked. 
And cushions piled with eastern care 

And cabinets with jewels flecked. 
The Lady Ida knelt — her shrine — 

A niche within the marble wall. 
Where flow'rets had been taught to twine 

And o'er the Virgin's image fall ! 
A scented taper upwards threw 

Perpetual incense at her feet. 
While downward, through the golden hue 

The infant Jesu smiled most sweet 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 103 

On the lone mourner, whose pure heart 
Resigned to woe, clung closer there 

When anguish caused each pulse to start 
And almost burst with its despair. 

The southern flower was drooping low, 
But northern blasts had chilled it not ; 

Its leaves had lost their summer glow 
And faded 'neath a weary lot. 

" Oh heaven !" she prayed, " my spirit aid, 

It weeps — it yields not to thy will ; 
1 fain, oh Jesu, would have laid 

It throbbing — wounded — bleeding — still 
Submissive down, and lived to pray 

For his dear soul, who died to win 
Thy Tomb from Moslem power away^ — 

Thou who didst die to cancel sin — 
But pardon thou my human pangs, 

Wipe thou away these flooding tears. 
Aid thou my soul which only hangs 

On thy dear love amidst its fears ! 
And thou, oh thou, sweet Mother, hear ! 

Whose heart was pierced on Calvary's brow, 
Who at the cross and tomb didst share 

The stigma of his passion too ; 
Upon that soil thus holy made 

My brave crusader met his doom — 
In desert sands his form they laid — 

Unwept — unhonored by a tomb — 



104 FLOWERS OF 

There — on that soil the god-man trod 

Where ye did watch his birth and death 
Didst hover round thy hidden God 

And feel upon thy cheek his breath, 
Until the wondrous revealing 

Of divine powers w^ere known — 
Until the dead, bereft of feeling, 

Arose at his majestic tone ! 
Until the storm cloud o'er the seas 

Dispersed at his supreme command. 
Until the leper's foul disease 

Was healed by his almighty hand — 
Still by the cross — amidst the stir, 

And wailing on that awful hill. 
Unto the lonely sepulchre 

Thy bleeding heart clung closer still ! — 
That sacred soil, my loved and lost 

Sought, with the red cross on his breast, 
To battle with Saladin's host 

And o'er their Paynim bodies press, 
As one by one the chivalry 

Of all united Christendom 
Marched on, with banners waving high, 

To die — or win the Saviour's tomb ! 
He fell, but not in battle fray 

'Mid clanging arms and battle shout 
With gallant deeds to mark the day 

Which dawned upon the pagan rout ; 
He fell, but not beneath the folds 

Of banners waving o'er his head, 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 105 

Or where with prayers the fainting souls 

Of thousands from their bodies sped — 
He died alone. — The plague-spot burned 

A few short hours upon his brow ; 
Afar his comrades wept, yet turned 

Affrighted from their leader now — 
And thus he died — on those bare sands — 

He who deserved a nobler fate — 
Unknown — uncared for in those lands 

Which give a Christian — all their hate. 



PART III. 

The arras moved^-old Roderick stood 

Like some grim marble effigy — 
While she, engulphed in memory's flood. 

Heard not his mailed heel ringing nigh ; 
He paused and with respectful awe 

Thrice crossed himself and bowed his head, 
But when her pallid cheek he saw 

And heard her thus deplore her dead, 
One sob burst forth from his brave heart, 

Like night winds wailing through the storm 
He clasped his hands with sudden start 

And weeping, drooped his giant form 
And murmured low, " Oh God, oh God, 

Ignobly in that Paynim land 
He fell where he had victor trod — 

The noblest of that Christian band — 



106 FLOWERSOF 

And / who oft upon this breast 

Had borne him when a laughing child 

Far — far away in slothful rest 

Knew not the hour so dark and wild 

That saw him die." 

The ladye sprung 

Affrighted from her lowly place 
Back every tress she wildly flung 

And gazed distracted in his face. 
" I knew not it was thou," she said, 

" God save thee, Roderick, dost thou weep 
And vigils hold around the dead 

Who o'er the rolling billows sleep ? 
Come hither ! I would talk with thee 

Of him who prized and loved thee well 
For thy high deeds of bravery 

Which many a minstrel song doth tell — - 
Tell me about his boyhood bright 

His rambles on the mountain side 
His boldness in the Lowland fight — 

The spurs he won with manly pride ! 
I cannot sleep — come, Roderick, near. 

And rest thy aged limbs awhile, 
And as the gentle tale I hear 

Methinks I'll see him move and smile! 
But list ! hushed is the beagle's howl, 

And yonder in the moon's fair ray 
I see a form with cloak and cowl 

With warning hand keep them at bay ; 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 1 07 

What meaneth it — he onward glides 

Like some lone phantom in a dream, 
Now pausing, where the willow hides 

The water from the stars sweet gleam — 
And see — old man dost thou not see 

Beneath the serge a snowy vest, 
And as yon cloud's soft shadows flee, 

A red cross gleaming on his breast ? 
Go ! go ! it is some palmer worn 

From Holy Land with weary feet, 
Or phantom from the grave upborne 

In troubled mood my' soul to greet — 
But no — he weeps — I see him dash 

His hand athwart his shaded eyes 
His rosary in the moonbeams flash, 

And scallop shell of goodly size — 
Roderick, my brain is aching now, 

Perhaps I dream — perhaps I'm mad ; 
Now rapture's pang, throbs on my brow 

Now fear and terror make me sad : 
But go — nay pause — was that a note 

Of lutestring on the silent air? 
Oh God ! — what tones are those which float 

Like angel music on mine ear?" 

She grasped the old man's mail-clad arm, 

And from her casement leaning o'er, 
Gazed, like some sybil on her charm, 

Or man of eld on mystic lore, 



108 FLOWERS OF 

On that lone wanderer of the east 

Whose hands the grave had scooped, perchance, 
Where Waldo's clay was laid to rest, 

Whose eye had met his dying glance. 
But now with minstrel hand he rings 

Upon his lute sweet harmony^ 
Then sweeping o'er the golden strings 

Attuned his voice to melody. 



A HERO sought the battle plain 

His chieftains by his side, 
A plumed morion on each brow 

And falchions by their side 
O'er many a brawny breast was thrown 

A flowing silken band, 
With wrought device of golden thread, 

Placed there by lady's hand. 

Prayers followed forth that noble host, 

And woman's tear fell fast 
As from the castle court they rode 

In proud and stately haste : 
But woman's tears — nor life's sweet boon 

Or hearthstone dim and cold, 
Could from the holy wars detain 

Or win those heroes bold. 



But soon upon those eastern sands 
That gallant host lay low. 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 109 

Some falling 'neath the Paynim's sword, 

Some 'neath the plague spot's glow ; 
But all that fell, like warriors died. 

Their thoughts on heaven and home, 
Their last words, ' From the Saracen 



Rescue the Saviour's tomb. 



But one returned — his heart was sad, 

His home looked desolate, 
No welcome beacon on the wall, 

No yeoman at the gate ; 
No starry beams from love's soft eye. 

Or voice of love's sweet tone, 
Cheered him with promises of joy — 

That pilgrim sad and lone." 

With cadence sweet, the gentle song 

In mournful numbers died. 
And o'er the pilgrim seemed to throng 

Pale mem'ry's phantom tide ; 
His lute fell ringing at his feet. 

His head drooped on his breast. 
Back dropped the cowl, and breezes sweet 

His flowing locks caressed. 
While on his brow a single ray^ 

Of silver moonlight fell. 
And on his cheek, dark fringes lay 

Which hid his eyes deep spell. 
" All fled — all lost," he murmured low, 

" My southern flowret dead ; 
10 



110 F L O W E R S F 

Death's chill upon that sunny brow, 

Its dust upon her head ! 
Oh cruel palmer, what avail 

Was all thy skill to me, 
Why did I live to hear the tale, 

Which brought such woe to me, 
Of how my lady's cheek grew wan, 

Of how her life's sweet bloom, 
In hope's wild fleeting dreams had gone 

To grace the lonely tomb ? 
Oh, palmer—why a life restore, 

Why cool each scorching vein, 
To hear a tale which evermore 

Scorches both heart and brain ?" 

Why starts the lonely pilgrim now? 

What weird-like power hath 
That white veiled figure bending low, 

So wildly in his path ? 
His eyes with awful rapture shine. 

He kneels, as one might kneel 
In prayer, before some holy shrine 

Stamped with angelic seal, 
And gazing in those shadowy eyes 

Which drank the light of his : 
" Oh, spirit from the grave !" he cries, 

" Thank thee for love like this. 
Which death's chill fetters could not hold 

In durance while I live and breathe — 
Come hither, shade, and cheer my soul, 



LOVE AND MEMORY. Ill 

And as of yore around me wreathe 
Thy pure embrace," 

With one wild cry 

The Lady Ida to him fled, 
" Thou art no phantom from yon sky, 

Or I a spirit from the dead ! 
We live, my Waldo— oh my God ! 

I die, I faint with joy's excess ; 
I cannot stem this sudden flood 

Of more than earthly happiness ; 
On thy dear breast thus to repose. 

To feel, to know, that thou art nigh ; 
Oh Waldo, softer than the close 

Of summer sunset thus to die !" 
She lay upon his stalwart breast 

Like a pure lily on the wave — 
Or bird within its long lost nest — 

Or weary heart within its grave. 

The sun rose bright, on Waldo's towers 

The trumpet note was heard once more, 
Tiie banner decked with plumes and flowers, 

Glanced in the sun, and floated o'er 
Those proud old walls. The ramparts gleamed 

With yeomen and with archers bold, 
Whom Roderick, ere the morning beamed. 

Had summoned from each mountain hold, 
To welcome home with solemn rite 

Lord Waldo to his proud domain ; 



112 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 

The chapel altar 's rich with light, 

Surrounded by a priestly train 
Who wait to chaunt the sacred lay 

Of holy sacrifice divine 
For joy that Waldo lived that day^ 

And those who sleep in Palestine— 
When forth, with stately steps and slow, 

Came Waldo and his gentle bride — 
A shout arose — above — below. 

While sturdy men wept tears of pride ; 
W hen he, returning with high grace. 

The welcome of their honest cheer. 
Raised his plumed morion to his face 

To hide — what honored him — a tear.^ 




THE CITIES OF SILENCE. 

'•By this very poetical and appropriate name the Mohammedans call 
their burial places." — Washington Irving. 

I STOOD alone amid the tombs a weary wanderer; 

By high and noble monument, and princely sepulchre — 

Beneath them lay the great and good, the beautiful and 
fair — 

The flowers of worth and chivalry were calmly slumber- 
ing there. 

I gazed upon the lowly graves, but they were sweet and 

gay, 
With buds and blossoms hanging o'er in rich and bright 

array ; 
Some wreaths were gemmed with dewy tears by pure 

affection shed. 
And glittered like a crown of pearls, above the silent 

dead. 

Within this lonely place, the scene was very sad and fair. 
And memory with her magic spell, will often linger there, 
Above — the fleecy clouds flew on along the brow of night, 
Beneath — pure streams were gaily glancing in the moon's 
mild light. 

The melody of gushing founts, from their deep hidden 

cells. 
Was dirge-like, as they glittered o'er the green and 

flow'ry dells ; 
10* 



114 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 

And as the summer winds passed o'er, and dimpled every 

wave - 

The low, sweet, rushing sound, was but fit music for the 

grave. 

The lonely wild dove left her home, within the cypress 

tree, 
And chanted her soft thrilling note all sad and mournfully ; 
And then she rested on a tomb, to dress her plumage 

bright, 
i thought it was a spirit there, she looked so pure and 

white. 

She gazed above, as if her home were in the star-gemmed 

sky ; 
Then left the city of the dead, among those gems to fly, 
And seek, perchance, a purer home amid that glittering 

throng, 
And listen to the melody of bright creation's song. 

On— on she flew, until a cloud lit up with silver light, 
Sailed on and closed the lonely dove, forever from my 

sight; 
I left the silent place of tombs, and wiped a falling tear, 
And almost envied those who slept, so^^calmly sweetly 

there. 



FAREWELL TO THE DEAD.* 

A FUNERAL train with solemn steps and slow 
Came gliding* past. Men's faces wore a shade 
Of grief, and eyes which seldom felt the dew 
Of tears, were wet, and manly cheeks grew pale 
As feeling ushered up each burning drop 
From their full hearts ; for he who lay beneath 
The gloomy pall and nodding hearse plumes, died 
While Life was young, and in its brightest flash 
When rain-bow arches seemed to span each wish. 
And cast a star-like brilliance o'er a world 
Of hopes and smiles, when every dream perchance 
Was but a dream of joy — of love— of home. 
And yet he died far from that sweet bright home ! 
How like a glance of light his thoughts pierced through 
The flight of time— along the length of years 
Until they reached his aged father's hearth, 
And heard from every lip the silvery tones 
Of gladsome joy and love's own welcome sweet. 
And gazed upon the scenes his childhood knew — 
The sun-lit vines and trees — the bright blue stream, 
But Death chilled that fond dream, and all of life 
And light was slilled„ 

* Inscribed to the memory of Wm. Jenkins, Jr., who died suddenly — 
at night— in New Orleans. 



116 FLOWERS OF 

The lonely sentinels 
Which beam on high, to cheer the midnight watch 
Kept vigils o'er him in Death's agony, 
Its brief and bitter pain-^and these were all 
For slumber, and its heaviness of dreams 
Sealed up the eyes of those who would have wept 
Warm tears, and murmured words of kindly thought 
To soothe the stranger's passage to a stranger's grave. 

They laid him in the silent mould, beneath 

The fragrant orange trees whose blossoms wave 

In a perpetual and balmy air. 

As balmy in that southern land, as if 

The winds stole past, the gates of Paradise. 

Farewell ! 
A father's tears like rain drops gushing 

Fall upon thy memory's shrine — 
A sister's brow, with anguish flushing 

Tell a sadder dirge than mine. 

Farewell ! 
Thy brothers' silent woe give token 

Of grief which fond hearts only feel, 
To see so rudely — sadly broken, 

The chain around love's signet soul. 

Farewell ! 
Thy mother's spirit sure will greet thee 

In that far off shadowy bourne. 
And guardian angels smiling meet thee, 

Telling of hopes that never mourn. 



LOVE ANDMExMORY. 



117 



Farewell! 
God — and our holy Mary speed thee 

To thine everlasting rest ; 
The prayers of saints and martyrs lead thee 

To thy Saviour's sheltering breast. ■ 




GETHSEMANE. 

Now turn my harp to loftier lays 
To sadder themes of other days, 

And ring a note, a long:, loud tone, 
And every earth-born melody 

Of music's witchery disown ; 
Let strains from vast eternity 

Inspired by an Almighty hand, 
Sweep o'er in rolling extacy 

And every note of love expand ; 
Lend — lend your wings, ye angels bright, 

With harps and crowns by Jesus given, 
Who fly along the glittering heights 

And drink the brilliant streams of heaven 
Oh bend ye everlasting hills, 

Replete with light and brilliancy. 
From whence the joyous gushing rills 

Of glory spring eternally. 
And dance along the bowers of bliss ; 

While every golden music wave 
Grows brighter as it stops to kiss 

The lips of some fair flower, or lave 

The blooming banks of that bright river 

Which from the throne flows on forever. 
Be still, my soul — the theme is given : 
The gift of Christ, the hope of heaven. , 



FLOWERS OP LOVE AND MEMOKY, 1 19 

The moon is shining soft and clear 
Upon the earth, as if no tear 
Had e'er been shed, or heart been riven 
Beneath her calm and cloudless heaven. 
On Moab's far-off purple hills, 

On Judean mounts where palm trees waved. 
Where flow Siloa's fountain rills, 

Or where with costly marble paved 
The Temple in lone splendor stood — 

Or in that vale where prophets sleep,* 
The billows of that radiant flood 

In soft and solemn splendor steep 
The dreamy mists which o'er them brood ; 
Then with a brighter, clearer gleam 
Smiles sweetly on a dimpling stream. 
Which in its gladness floats along 
In love with its own light and song; 
And in a softer mood reposes 
Where the lily pale, and roses 
Clustered around the glowing bowers 
Which glittered, as the dewy showers 
Distil from heaven, and softly fall 

On every hanging leaf and spray, 
Where late the wild bird's gushing call 

Burst out to greet the dying ray 
Of setting sun, and rosy light, 

Which jewelled o'er the brilliant sky, 
And quivered on the mountain height- 
Like spirits when they gently fly 
* Valley of Jehosaphat. 



120 FLOWERS OF 

Along the glowing paths of even, 
Sent from a higher — holier sphere 

To sing the poesy of heaven 

And drink the light which revels there. 

But wild bird's thrilling melody 

No longer echoes sweetly through 

The bowers of Gethsemane ; 
With closing eve away she flew 

To hide within her sheltered nest, 
Upon the hills where clustering grew 

The vines wherein she loved to rest : 
All — all is still, and nought is heard, 
Save bowering leaves by night winds stirred, 
And silence reigns, supreme — alone, 
Her sceptre night, the moon her throne. 
But list! is that a plaintive moan 

Of wounded dove upon the air. 
Or echo of a broken tone 

From some wild wind harp hanging near ? 
The sighs steal on — oh who could weep 

Within that garden's fairy wild. 
Where e'en the blossoms hung to sleep 

Their rosy heads, where breezes mild 

Chaunted a soothing lullaby, 

Where every sound was melody ? 
'Twas HE — rejected of his own, 

The God-man bringing peace to earth, 
Treading the wine press all alone 

In sorrow from his mystic birth — 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 121 

The Saviour, who in agony, 

By many a deep and bitter sigh, 
And plaintive prayer, tells mournfully 

Of the dark hour, which draweth nigh . 
On Calvary's rugged steep. A flood 

Of burning tears gush from his heart, 
And mingle with the drops of blood. 

Which mortal fear hath caused to start 
Upon his brow. Alone ! — alone ! 

By earthly aid forsaken now, 
And every human friendship flown — 

He raised his throbbing — blood stained brow, 
Towards the bright and silent sky. 

Where on a glittering throne of light 
His Father reigned, and angels fly 

On wings with glorious lustre bright 
From heaven — to heaven repeating clear, 

And high hosannas to the Lamb ! 
He prays, and from the skies appear 

A sudden light, and lo ! a band 
Of seraphs downward urge their flight, 

And hover o'er the God-man's form, 
With radiance from the source of light, 

To cheer his grief's unpitying storm. 
Their harps were hushed, and every wing 

Hung drooping with a solemn fear. 
And when perchance a golden string 

Was quivered by the balmy air, 
The sound rung out so mournfully — 

As though the notes of glory fair 

11 



122 FLOWERS OF 

Refused to echo harmony, 

But in His sorrow claim a share ! 
Upon the earth he prostrate lies, 

Around him fall the dews of night, 
And tears distilled by seraphs' eyes 

Flash like bright gems amidst the light ; 
Which fading softly and serene 

O'er heaven's plains, fled quick away, 
And flickered o'er the midnight scene 

Like wasted tapers' dying ray ; 
The tints of angels, glowing clouds, 

Are wrapped in deep, profoundest gloom, 
And hang upon the air, like shrouds 

Above a long forsaken tomb. 



He prayed — the Saviour of the world ; 

Who could in majesty have hurled 
The earth, with all her power and might 

In fragments, to chaotic night 
From whence, she sprung ! One — one command 

Breathed forth by him to glory's land. 
Could bring a legion from the skies. 

With royal state, and welcome cries, 
To bear him to his Father's throne — 
He might have spoke — they would have flown 
Where the eternal lustre springs. 
And caught its gems upon their wings, 
And borne the flowers of bliss away, 
And twined each bright and glittering ray 



LOVE AND MEMORY 



123 



From heaven, around that lonely wild, 

And heaven on earth would there have smiled. 

But lo ! " Thy will, not mine be done," 

Is heard in plaintive accents now. 
His love, the chalice will not shun. 

But drinks its deep and bitter flow, 
Altho' its nauseous lees are death. 

With pain, and shame, and agony. 
Until his life's last failing breath 

Ebbs in wild, lonely pangs away : 
Then saved — redeemed — a new born light 

Of joy would cheer the fallen world. 
And millions shout through ages' flight 

" Glory to him who hath unfurled 
Redemption's hope, eternal, sure ; 
Man can be saved — a being pure." 




HOW WILL HE COME? 

Not on that hoar and awful hill, 

Where Israel's mighty leader stood, 
Amidst the thunder's veiling cloud. 
Wrapped in lightning's dazzling shroud, 
Receiving solemn laws from God. 

Not there, though holy is the spot ; 

And worlds seem gleaming o'er the waste 
Where'er the desert mirage smiles; 
While seen from all the hills defiles. 

The Red Sea's shining billows pass. 

Not humbly in a manger laid ; 

As once He came to Judah's land ; 
Incarnate God in human guise ! 
The Lamb foreseen by prophet eyes, 

To bear the stigma of earth's shame. 

Nor where the dove o'er Jordan's flood 

Came brooding o'er the God-man's head, 
Which dripping with baptismal dews, 
Filled all the silent air with hues. 
Of glory, from the Father shed. 

Or on thy brow, fair Olivet, 

Which bore this pure imperial gem. 
And heard the sighs, and drank the tears, 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 125 

That Jesus shed for future years, 
And thou, oh doomed Jerusalem ! 

Nor yet on Thabor's lofty height, 

Where erst the beatific day. 
Of things celestial, lit the air. 
And shone resplendently, and fair, 

Upon the lonely mountain way ! 

He will not come — oh Lord of love 

Remember all thy agony ! — 
Where with his fainting — failing breath. 
He drained the chalice unto death, 

On thy dark altar, Calvary ! 

But filled with glory brighter far 

Than saint's or prophet's eye e'er saw. 

Stern in avenging majesty 

Throned on the stars that light the sky. 
He'll come a trembling world to awe. 

Cherubic legions round his throne 

In glittering files will wait his nod ; 
While seraphs from each heavenly steep, 
And angel cohorts downward sweep, 

T' adore the splendor of their God ! 

The lightning cloud, that veils the beam 

From the eternal centre bright. 
The Virgin Mother, throned and calm 
Amidst the blood-washed of the Lamb, 

And myriads clothed in shining white, 

11* 



126 FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY. 

Will grace with beauty more serene, 

The solemn glory of his throne ; 
Where filed in gorgeous bands around. 
The princely martyr's song will sound, 
Of « Glory to the Lamb alone !" 

While Calvary, once so dark, and drear ; 

Shall a new Thabor, gleaming stand. 
Where every pang, and every wo 
The GoD-MAN suffered there, shall glow 

Like suns, resplendent o'er the land. 

While we — oh trembling — earth-stained souls ! 

With Christ our Judge — and Calvary ! — 
The thought, oh God of love, o'erwhelms 
The soul — the mind, that vainly stems 

Such awful visions, after thee ! 

Then welcome pangs — grow bright ye tears ! 

Be glorified on Calvary ! 
There planted on the blood-stained mound 
The angel ladder may be found 

Which bears us upwards, Lord, to thee ! 



MARY MAGDALENE; A TRADITION OF NAIN. 

Mary arose from the crimson pillows on which she 
had been reposing, and approaching the window, drew 
back, with a silken rope, the heavy draperies of purple 
inwrought with gold, which shaded the apartment from 
the direct rays of the sun, and gazed with a thoughtful 
brow out on the quiet streets of the city of Nain. Beyond 
its walls lay the tranquil sea, whose waters reflected back 
to heaven the thousand resplendent lights and shadows scat- 
tered along the western horizon by the flashing rays of the 
setting sun, and in the far distance, like a streak of gray 
clouds, lay the mountains of Judea. Many a shallop richly 
laden, was gliding over the the still waters ; some bound 
outwards, freighted with the rich dyes and stuff's of Na- 
zareth ; some coming into port bearing treasures of gold 
and jewels from distant lands ; others with costly silks and 
fine paintings — polished mirrors of steel, and silver, and 
pearls, and wrought ivory, from the Ionian isles. The 
chaunt of the oarsmen as their oars plashed lazily in the 
glowing waters, came faintly and sweetly on the ear, and 
the white sails, scarcely swelling in the breeze, looked 
like safi'ron-tinted clouds. Then came stealing and chirp- 
ing on the stillness, the vesper hymns of the birds, and 
blending as they did with the gradually decreasing hum 
of the city, as the evening mist brooded over it, were 
sounds which shed over the spirit of Mary Magdalene a 
something like peace. A band of young and beauteous 



128 FLOWERS OF 

maidens now tripped along with jars filled, frow) the 
purest well in the city ; then came a crowd of children 
dancing to the sound of symbols, and lutes, and trailing 
after them long vines of flowers and interwoven wreaths, 
and sending out their joyous laughter and sounds of mirth, 
which well accorded with the sweet harmony of music- 
Mary Magdalene turned her eyes wearily away from 
those tokens of peace and joy, and leaning her head 
against a marble pillar, wept, A low sweet voice aroused 
her, singing an old Jewish song which told in sad poetry 
the tale of a broken heart. The singer w^as a young and, 
lovely girl just blushing into the morning of life, her skin 
was like polished ivory, save where a rose tint flushed 
her cheeks and dyed the tips of her taper fingers. Her 
large blue eyes were cast downwards, and the full red 
lips, just parted enough to reveal two rows of pearl-like 
teeth — her exquisitely formed arms and bust, combined 
with a slight and graceful figure, now half hidden by a 
profusion of sunny hair, which fell back from her sad 
childish forehead, and swept the Mosaic pavement ; com- 
pleted the beautiful picture. Mary started, as the voice 
told her, that her slave had been a witness to her emotion, 
and raising her magnificent form to its utmost height, while 
her commanding black eye flashed with anger, exclaimed, 
" Thou here ! away slave ! how dost thou dare see me 
weep .'"' 

The timid voice was stilled, and the fair young head 
bowed in silence and tears. After gazing on the young 
maide'n a few moments, during which short space, anger, 
contempt, and an expression of mysterious bitterness alter- 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 129 

nately changed her countenance, the touching and beauti- 
ful grief of Addi, moved her better spirit, and chased 
away every feeling, except pity. " Come hither Addi — 
come hither poor bird. Forgive thy mistress' wayward 
mood, and sing again — but sing something, to lighten my 
heart, for it is heavy and sad, child — sing something to 
stir the still fountain of its gladness — sing — sing — Addi — 
is not thy cage a gilded one — then wherefore sad and 
silent?" 

" The star that lit my path, lady, is gone out. Zimri, 
the widow's son, is dead." 

" Ha ! dead ? poor child, I pity thee ! Yet, Addi, come 
hither; 1 would tell thee, maiden, to cherish a love for 
the dead — let it not go out, and leave thy heart, like the 
waters of that sea, whose sullen waves cover those olden 
cities which were destroyed in their might and glory by 
Jehovah. Thou hast heard of the fruits which grow on 
its banks ?" 

" Yea, lady !" 

" Let love for the dead go out, and thou wilt become 
like — like — me — yes, Addi, me — beautiful and bright to 
the eye, but within bitterness and ashes !— but hark !" 

*' Oh, lady," sobbed the young slave — " that sound of 
grief, is the wail of Zimri's mother and kinsmen — they 
are bearing him past to the grave" — and Addi rushed to 
the window, and straining her eyes through the misty 
twilight, saw the bier on which was laid the dead body 
of Zimri, and over it the bended form of his widowed 
mother, weeping ; and by the torches' light which they 
carried, the sorrowful faces of his kinsmen. 



130 FLOWERS OF 

" They are coming, lady,-' she cried to Mary, who 
had thrown herself again on the crimson pillows of her 
couch — "Oh, Zimri, is that still form never more to 
move ? Methinks, I see now the smile on his white lips, 
and the waves of shining hair on his gentle brow. See, 
lady! they are beneath the window, and the pall has 
fallen so closely around him, that you can see the beauty 
of his form even in death — ha ! why do they stop ! — a 
crowd approaches — who — what — aha ! it is the Prophet ! 
Jesus, and his followers !" 

Mary started from her recumbent posture, and throw- 
ing back the tresses of long black hair, which had fallen 
like a veil around her, with a look of intense anxiety 
gazed on the face of Addi, who still, unheeding her 
mistress' emotion, continued — " He is like one of our 
mountain palms in his majesty — his brow is like the 
evening star, and his serene lips drop honey. He ap- 
proaches the widow — he looks on her tears with eyes of 
tender pity — he speaks — he raises his face towards 
heaven, and reaches forth his hand and lays it on the 
dead — God of my fathers ! the dead !"^ — and with a loud 
and piercing shriek, she rushed forth into the streets. 

Mary started up with an expression of dread and won- 
der, and looking down on the crowd below, saw the 
youth arising from his bier at the command of Jesus. 
She saw him, with the warm breath of life in his nostrils, 
who a few moments past was dead and cold. And as the 
shouts from the assembled people rent the air, many of 
whom were now willing to believe on and worship Him 
who had wrought the miracle, he bowed his head meekly 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 131 

on his bosom, and gathering the folds of his garment 
around him, glided noiselessly away from the multitude. 

After long hours of abstraction, Mary lifted her head 
from her bosom, and approaching a mirror, folded her 
arms, and gazed on her image with an expression of scorn 
and bitterness ; anon tears coursed over her flushed cheeks, 
and her bosom heaved as if some pent up agony wrung 
her heart. 

" Why art thou weeping ?" said a voice near her — 
" why art thou weeping, Mary ?" 

" Ha ! Phelon ?" 

" Aye, Phelon," he answered — " Phelon, the King's 
son, who abides here in the common garb of a Publican, 
to be near thee." 

" Go to thy father's palace again, Phelon," answered 
Mary, sadly, and without turning to look on the beautiful 
youth, with his brown curling" hair and dark blue eyes, 
which gazed with incredulous wonder on her. 

" Mary," said he, " thou art angered with me^— I came 
but to bring a parting gift, Mary. My father is wroth 
against me, because I am not at the head of his soldiery, 
and hath sent his chief officer to bring me to his presence ; 
but I will go out of the city to-night, while he sleepeth, 
and ere the first watches of the morning, Phelon will be 
on his war-horse with helm and battle spear and plume, 
ready for the fight." 

Her lips quivered and paled as she turned and looked 
on him, and her voice was plaintive as she replied — " Go 
Phelon !(thou art bright and beautiful in mine eyes, and 



132 FLOWERS OF 

verily have I loved thee ; but go, I pray never more to 
see that face again — I pray never more to hear the words 
of thy silvery and honeyed tongue again — I have sinned — 
go from me." 

He looked steadfastly and sternly on her while she 
spoke, and with a searching glance, said — " Hast thou 
seen the Nazarene who calleth himself Jesus ?" 

" I have," she answered calmly — " and to-morrow, 
while thou art going to battle, I shall be kneeling in the 
dust at his feet." 

Phelon laughed tauntingly, and turning on his iron shod 
heel, replied : 

" Look on my gift, Mary " — and he laid an exquisitely 
wrought casket at her feet. The light from the scented 
lamp which threw upward delicious odors from its silver 
pedestal, shone down on the interior of the casket, and 
glittered on the gold and precious stones that were there- 
in, in many hued sparkles of brilliance. There was also 
an alabaster box set round with jewels, which contained 
spikenard and ointment, such as queens used. 

" Hence, tempter," she shrieked — " hence ! or I will 
send thy name out on the ears of the sleepers of Nain 
like tenfold thunder. — Hence, I say, for the devils which 
tear my soul are raving within me !" 

Unaccustomed to her strange mood, he left the apart- 
ment hastily. She threw herself prostrate on the floor, 
and pressed her burning forehead against the cool marble, 
and writhed and wept, and sorrowed mightily — for 
mightily, had the Magdalene sinned. When she arose 
from her humble posture, it was past the middle watch of 



LOVE AND MEMORY 133 

the night, and the inhabitants of the city had gone to rest, 
and all was silent save the watch-cry of the sentinel as 
he passed the wall, and the occasional clang of his armor 
as he changed from hand to hand his heavy spear. The 
rippling of gentle waves on the distant sea came singing 
past, mingled with scented winds, which had been sleep- 
ing through the day amid the orange groves and blossoms, 
and the moon, like a crescent of diamonds, showered a 
flood of serene and beautiful glory over the earth ; but 
still Mary could not slumber, or rest. A costly robe of 
crimson, confined around the waist by a girdle inwrought 
with precious stones, fell in rich folds around her volup- 
tuous form, and the long black braids of hair, which, 
when unconfined, swept the flioor as she stood, were 
gathered up in plaits and curls, and secured by bodkins 
of gold, and strings of rubies and pearls. Her arms, 
bared almost to the shoulders, were entwined with links 
of precious stones and silver, and as she paced with a 
rapid step to and fro the apartment, the constant glitter 
of her feet displayed a costly taste in her sandals, which 
were embroidered with tiny pearls and gems, and fastened 
by clasps of highly polished silver. She looked out on 
the heavens — peaceful and bright, in their glory of azure 
and silver — then scanned with a restless eye the calm 
landscape below — all were at rest, the very dogs had 
ceased baying at the moon, and were slumbering quietly 
in their chains. She turned and gazed round her apart- 
ment — the singing birds were sleeping with their glossy 
heads behind their wings, undisturbed by the fountain 
which bubbled from the marble laver, and trickled down 
12 



134 FLOWERS OF 

its sides with a ringing sound. Addi, the beautiful one, 
was dreaming of Zimri, for there was a tear stealing over 
the roses of her smiling cheek. No where that she 
turned, could Mary see, or hear aught, to still the agonies 
which tore her heart. She snatched her harp, and com- 
menced many soothing melodies, but her fingers trembled, 
and her hand fell along the chords, and crushed the music ; 
that was thrown aside, and crossing her arms over her 
bosom, she lifted her now pallid face, and closing her 
eyes, as if to shut out every object, which had grown 
familiar, sat like some breathless statue, awaiting the 
touch of Promethean fires, to start it into life; but soon 
her breast began to heave, and her white ghastly teeth 
were pressed on her lips, until the red blood gushed from 
beneath them— she threw her arms on high, and with a 
cry of anguish cast herself on her knees in all the des- 
pairing sorrow of a repentance like hers. She tore from 
her hair the gems, which fell like a shower of glory 
around her ; and trampled beneath her feet \he casket of 
precious jewelry, until the floor was strewed with its rich 
contents ; and beat her bosom in her agony, and sprinkled 
ashes on her head, and wept tears, such as had never 
welled up from her heart before ! 

Addi, who had been awakened by the unrestrained 
grief of her mistress, ran and knelt at her feet and clasped 
her knees, and comprehending well, from her expressions, 
the cause of her woe, exclaimed — " Go to Him, lady — 
go to Him who raised the dead !" 

"And wherefore, O maiden, should I, the sinful, go to 
Him.?" 



LOVE AND MEMORY. 135 

" Oh lady ! if the sleeper in the shadow of death heareth 
His voice, thy spirit can hear it — and to hear it, is to live." 

The mild and consoling words of Addi, as she told of 
what she had seen and heard at the raising of the widow's 
son, and of what the disciples preached daily, soothed 
Mary's troubled spirit ; and something like hope of even- 
tual peace sprung up in her heart; and she drooped her 
head gradually on the bosom of her hand-maiden, who 
clasped her beauteous arms around her, and laid her cool 
innocent cheek on her burning, throbbing brow. And 
thus the two sat — one breathing hopes of forgiveness, the 
other lisfening as if life hung on each word ; until day 
began to dawn behind the blue hills. 
. On that day, while the Master sat at meat with Simon, 
a rich and learned Pharisee of Nain, a woman came and 
knelt at his feet, and bending her veiled head low to the 
floor, watered them with her tears, and unbinding her hair 
wiped them with the heavy, shining curls, then kissed His 
feet, and anointed them with ointment, the perfume of 
which filled the vast room. And He knew that she was 
a sinner, who thus humbly and silently asked for pardon, 
and said — "Thy sins, which are many, are forgiven 
thee — thy faith has saved thee — go in peace." 

Mary Magdalene was no more seen in Nain. After 
kneeling at the Saviour's feet, and hearing his assurance 
of forgiveness, she sold her gold and silver, and gems, and 
gave much goods to the poor. She was no more seen in 
Nain in the flushed glory of her beauty, but went forth alone 
into the wilderness ; and in the solemn solitude of its si- 
lence raised an altar to Him who had forgiven her sins. 



PIO NONO. 

His way girt round with storms ; his brave heart 

wounded oft by shafts of ire 
Sped from misguided hands — his upward steps, 

which climb a thorny path 
Filled with dark perils; placid and calm, midst the 

surrounding gloom; 
The lustre of his soul's high virtues shine, like the 

fair evening star 
Through the rift tempest, when the maddened winds 

tear the dark veil. 
And open views of heaven ! Or like an isle filled 

with rich treasures — 
Glowing with fadeless light ; and planted on its 

firm foundations, 
Which spring up from the Sea's unfathomed depths, it 

floats like a rare gem. 
Which the wild billows, may with thundering roar, 

threaten with ruin. 
But threaten in vain — which the tornado may 

pass wildly over — 
And triumph at a seeming wreck — but conquered 

itself — sweep by 
In sullen rage, to see the isle, blooming unmoved 

in the great 
Hollow of Jehovah's hand. Or, like Jacob — when 

his foes 
Plot dire events, and make night fearful with 

their mad intents ; 
And when they sleep ; dream hideous dreams, of bloodj 

and writhing scorpions : 



FLOWERS OF LOVE AND MEMORY, 137 

He rests — he slumbers — in his visions passing 

back and forth 
With angels, on the Ladder which the Patriarch saw ; 

from earth to Heaven ! 
Or like a Titan, moving with a single hand 

the Lever 
Of a people's noble destiny, while 

with the other. 
Ignoble souls, who fain, would bind the mighty * 

thoughts of his great mind 
With threads of sand — .are kept at bay — he stands 

without his peer ; 
A burning planet o'er that eastern Hemisphere, 

the nations ga:?ed 
On the bright beams, and rousing from the trance 

of ages, turned 
And offered gifts to Freedom |*#####*# 




12* 



J. MURPHY'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 

Just published, Ji New Edition, in a beautiful 18rno. volume of about 800 pages, ittm 
traled with splendid Steel Engravings, Sec. 

ST. VINCENT'S MANUAL, 

CONTAINING A SELECTION OF PRAYERS & DEVOTIONAL EXERCISES 

For the use of the Sisters of Charity int the United States of 

America, with the approbation of the Superiors. 

Second edition, Revised, Enlarged, and adapted to general use. 

The first edition of this prayer book, which was compiled and published for 
the especial use of tlie Sisters of Charity of St. Joseph, being out of print, 
tlie undersigned has the pleasure to announce that he has made an arrangement 
with the Superior for the copy-right, and has issued a second edition of the work 
with such alterations and additions as adapts it to general use, and to all occasions 
of public and private devotion. The book, in its original form, was very com- 
prehensive, embracing, besides the ordinary exercises of piety, a vast amount of 
useful instruction on various subjects ; but the prayers and instructions which are 
superadded, with the careful revision that has been bestowed upon the work, ren- 
der it the most complete and most accurate manual of Catholic piety that has ever 
been issued from the press in this country. 

This work is comprised in an 18mo. volume of about 800 pages, illustrated with 
several fine Steel Engravings, an Illuminated Title, Presentation Plate, &c. It 
is printed from new type, on fine paper, and is sold at the following very low prices, 
viz.— neatly bound in Black Roan, at $ 1.00 per copy ; in Roan, gilt edges, $1.50 ; 
in Arabesque, at $2.00; in Turkey Morocco, sup. extra, with Illuminated Title, 
&c., $2.50; Extra fine copies in Turkey sup. extra Flexible Backs, &c., $3 per 
copy. A few copies will be done up in Superb Velvet Bindings, with Cases, &.C., 
at prices varying tirom $ 8 to $ 10 per copy. 

(J^ Clergymen and Superiors of Religious Institutions, mill be supplied with all the 
copies they may obtain subscribers for, at the usual discount. 

Just published, 1 vol. l&no. cloth, gilt, .50 cts.; cloth, sup, ex, gilt edges, 75 cts. 

FENELON ON THE 
EDUCATION OF A DAUGHTER. 

This little work, from the pen of the illustrious Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray, 
is now, for the first time, presented to the American public. Like all the other 
productions of that distinguished Prelate, his " Education of a Daughter," ad- 
dressed to Christian parents, on the vital subject of the education of youth, has been 
universally admired for the excellence and wisdom of its instructions, the beauty 
of its maxims, and the intrinsic worth of its counsels. The name of Fenelon will, 
no doubt, be a sufficient recommendation to introduce it to the favorable notice of 
all who feel an interest in the virtue and happiness of the youthful and innocent 
portion of the community. To assist in promoting that happiness, and preserving 
that innocence and virtue, in the hearts of children, is the principal motive of the 
present publication, and hence it is confidently hoped that parents and Teachers 
will give it a favorable reception. 

Just published, in a beautiful 94mo. volume, with fine illustrations, 

THE CATHOLIC BRIDE, 

OR MORAL LETTERS ADDRESSED TO JULIA, 

DAUGHTER OF COUNT SOLARO BELLA MARGARITA, 

ON OCCASION OF HER MARRIAGE WITH COUNT EDOARDO DEMORRI DI CASTELMAGNOt 

Translated from the Italian, by Charles Constantine Pise, D. D. 

These highly instructive Letters abound in wise and practical counsels. They 
have been translated in Dr. Plse's usual graceful and happy style. They are 
printed and bound in a style of elegance and neatness commensurate with their 
merits. 



J. MURPHY'S RECENT PUBLICATIONS. 

THE PROSE AND POETICAL WRITINGS OP THE MILFORD BARD, 
Illustrated with several fine Engravings. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, gilt edges,. .1 50 
This work is very handsomely gotten up in the publisher's usual style of precision 
and elegance. The frontispiece is a neat engraved likeness of the " Milford 
Bard," w^hile several other embellishments are found in the body of the work. 
The contents are exceedingly interesting, and of a high order in a literary point of 
view. We have read several of the articles both in prose and poetry, and found 
Ihem always instructive, and sometimes delightful and thrilling. This publication, 
apart from its superior mechanical execution and intrinsic merits, has a peculiar 
claim upon the public in view of the interesting position of its author, and we 
should therefore be glad to hear of it« meeting with prompt and general patronage. 

Lut. Observer. 
Who that has ever read the touching essay of the author on the sufferings of our 
Saviour, or anj^ of his most humorous poems, exhibiting at once the elasticity and 
versatility of his mind and talents, would be without the whole of such a writer's 
productions, when offered at so cheap a rate. N- O. Crescent. 

" The pDfttical and prose writings of John Lofland, M. D., the Milford Bard, con- 
taining moral, sentimental, humorous and patriotic poems and essays." Who has 
not heard of tlie iMilford Bard, and his erratic course, like a comet. In this volume 
he appears at rest, in his cuhninations, and with concentrated light, diffuses his 
rays. The volume is a pretty one, will be read with pleasure, and on the whole 
will make a very pretty Christmas present. BaU. Clipper. 

WASHINGTON THE MODEL, OF CHARACTER FOR AMERICAN YOUTH. 

8-2mo. fancy paper, 13 

This is the title of a very neatly executed small work, peculiarly adapted for the 
perusal of youth. It is an address delivered to the boys of the public schools, by 
the Rev. J. N. M'Jilton, A. M., Chairman Central High Sehool of Baltimore, and 
it is worthy of general circulation ; as such we cheerfully recommend it. The aim 
of the author in preparing this address was its usefulness, and we doubt not every 
boy into whose hands it may tall will be improved by its perusal. In the language 
of the writer, " the model which is here presented in the illustrious Washington 
will be found to contain what is excellent and valuable in character," and worthy 
the emulation of our youth. N. Y. Truth Teller. 

LOVE AND MATRIMONY. A Letter to a Betrothed Sister. By a 

Lady of Baltimore. 32mo. fancy paper, gilt edges, '.25 

Although this is a little work, it contains much sensible advice, conveyed in 
brief, but strong language; and being from a sister to a sister, it is written in the 
style of the purest affection. We may add, that the typographical execution is 
very beautiful, the publisher having spared no pains in the getting of it up. It ia 
very suitable for a present. Lut. Observer. 

BIBLE QUADRUPEDS. The Natdral History of the Animals mentioned 
IN Scriptdre. Illustrated with 1& splendid Engravings. A new and beautiful 

edition. I6mo. embossed cloth, 75 

The same. Gilt edges...... 1 00 

This little work is got up in a style of neatness which, exclusive of its merits, 
cannot fail to recommend it to, the notice of families. It is a book which ought to 
be put into the hands of tlie rising generation — containing, as it does, much useful 
information. N. Y. Truth Teller. 

POPE'S ESSAY ON MAN. 32mo. cloth, 13 

DISCOURSE ON THR LIFE AND CHARACTER OF GEORGE CALVERT, 
The first Lord Baltimore, by Hon. J. P. Kennedy, before the Maryland 

Historical Society. 8vq. fancy paper, ., 85 

MEMOIR OF MAJOR SAMUEL RINGGOLD, U. S. A. Read before the Mary- 
land Historical Society, April, 1847, by James Wynne, M. D. 8vo paper,.. 13 
SILABARIO CASTELLANO, para el Uso de Los Ninos, bajo, un Nuevo Plan, 
Util y Agradable ; reuniendo la Ensenanza de las Letras, Urbanidad, Moral, y 

Religion, ,.25 

SILABARIO CASTELLANO, para el Uso de Las Ninas, bajo, un Nuevo Plan, 
Util y Agradable , reuniendo la Ensenanza, de las Letras, Urbanidad, Moral, y 
fieUgioBv .,....>. «.^ .....33 



J. MURPHY'S RECENT PUBLICATIONS. 
CATHOLIC TALES. 

PAULINE SEWARD, a Tale of Real Life. By John D. Bryant, Esq. 

New American Catholic Novel. 2 vols., 12mo. embossed cloth, gilt,....l 50 
The same. Embossed cloth, gilt edges, 2 00 

This work unites in an eminent degree pleasing incidents with useful instruc- 
tion. Through a story well conceived and ably sustained, the author has infused 
the teachings of the Catholic church in a manner eminently calculated to correct 
tlie errors and prejudices with which her adversaries would obscure her practices 
and doctrines. The author of this work is a convert to Catholicity ; and knowing, 
from his past experience and associations, what are the principal difficulties with 
Protestants in relation to our religion, he has sought to apply the instructive por- 
tions of his work to their explanation and removal. In this he has not been less 
happy than in the story itself. The work has only to be read to be admired — and 
no Catholic should be without a copy. 

The substance of the work involves the whole controversy between the church 
and her repudiatnrs, and the common arguments are urged with a conviction in 
their truth and with a force of language which give them a character of novelty. 
We may therefore commend Pauline Seward to the Catholic communi y as a very 
interesting person, whose acquaintance we recommend them speedily to cultivate. 

London Tablet. 

No branch of Catholic literature has been so little attended to as that of which 
the present work is destined to form one of the brightest gems. It is written in the 
most chaste and beautiful style. The interest thrown around the tale is singularly 
happy and intense. Cath. Her. 

If not the brightest eem m the Catholic literature of this country, the story 

9f Pauline Seward is certainly unsurpassed by any effort of the kind heretofore 

made on this side of the Atlantic. U. S, C. Mag. 

FxlTHER OSWALD, A Genuine Catholic Story. ^ new and improved edition. 

18mo. fancy paper, 38 

The same. Cloth, gilt, 50 

<'' " Cloth, ex. gilt edges, 75 

This work is intended to be a refutation of Father Clement; and as the author 
has been signally successful in accomplishing his design, the circulation of this 
work is well worthy the zeal of those who have at heart the honor and propaga- 
tion of the true faith. The work is well worthy the commendations which the 
press has every where bestowed upon it; and we do not hesitate to welcome it 
among the productions which are to be the most popular and influential means of 
removing anti-Catholic prejudice, and leading the Protestant. mind to the discovery 
and acknowledgment of truth. The present edition has been carefully revised, 
corrected and improved throughout. 
MOORE'S TRAVELS OF AN IRISH GENTLEMAN IN SEARCH OF A 

RELIGION. r2mo. full bound, cloth, with a neat and appropriate stamp,.. 73 

This standard wnrk is well known in the Catholic world, as combining more of 

wit, style, various and happy illustration, interest of narrative, and withal, a greater 

store of learning than most controversial works of the same class. 

THE STUDENT OF BLENHEIM FOREST, or the Trials of a Convert. 

By Mrs. Anna H. Dorsey. 32mo. cloth...... 50 

The same. Gilt edges, 63 

LORENZO, OR THE EMPIRE OF RELIGION. By a Scotch Non- Conformist. 

Translated from the French. 32mo. plain cloth, 25 

The same. Gilt edges,. 38 

PRASCOVIA, OR FILIAL PIETY. Translated from the French. 32mo. cloth, 

gilt edges, 38 

THE CHAPEL OF THE FOREST, Christmas Eve and other Tales. 

Translated from the French, ^mo. cloth, gilt edges, 38 

PERE JEAN, OR THE JESUIT MISSIONARY, A Tale of the North 

American Indians. By J. McSherry, Esq. 32mo. cloth, gilt edges, 38 



BURNAF'S SPHERE AND DUTIES OF WOUIAN. 

BRIEF EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES OF THE FIRST EDITION. 

The duties of woman, and especially of American females, are ably defined, and 
correctly animadverted on. We take pleasure in recommending it as a work tlial 
all parents should place in the hands of their daughters, and the husband in that of 
nis wife. — iV. Y. Lady's Companion. 

We commend the book to the attention of every female, whether young or old, 
^nd whatever station she may fill. They will find a true friend in the author, and 
rannot fail to draw iiriprovement from his admonitions. — Boston Courier. 

The subject itself is important and inviting. The style in which it is treated, is 
easy and graceful, the tone of thought, energetic, and the expression of the senti- 
ments pointed, and frequently striking by their biilliancy. These lectures are emi- 
nently deserving moi-e tlian praise — patronage. — National Intelligencer. 

Tlie style is siitficiently ornate, without being ambitious — the sentiments pure and 
elevated. We would recommend the ladies to purchase, for, unlike the fashiona- 
ble publications of the day, this work instructs vvliile it amuses.-iV. 0. Crescent City. 

It is devoted to a series of admirable lectures on the " Sphere and Duties of 
Woman," and other subjects, which were some time since delivered in Baltimore, 
by the Rev. George W. Burnap. The volume is one that we commend cheerfully 
and heartily. It inculcates admirable lessons at once agreeable and delightful. 

Penn. Courier ^ Inquirer. 

We liave iiad occasion to notice the practical excellence of Mr. Bamap's lec- 
tures, in calling attention to those that were addressed to the young men, and we 
now invite attention to a series on other subjects, no less interesting — no less ad- 
miral)ly written. The lecture which speaks on the condition of American women, 
will be read with interest. There is one portion of the volume which may be 
Jailed remarkable — it is that " on the moral constitution of man." — U, S. Gazette, 

A very neat volume has recently been published in Baltimore, entitled " Lec- 
tures on the Sphere and Duties of Woman, and other subjects,— by George W. 
Burnap, of Baltimore." The author presents his views, which are of a practical 
character throuahout, in plain and forcible language — and we could wish that his 
book might have a large circulation. It contains many remarks and suggestions 
which would, doubtless, prove profitable to our friends. — Boston Mercan. Journal. 

It is unnecessary for us now to enlarge on the literary merits of this gentleman, 
to refer to the estimate put on his former course of lectures, both in Fngland and 
America, or to speak of the literary credit derived to Baltimore from his labors as 
an author. We have already spoken of these things, and given copious extracts 
frou! the lectures themselves. In addition to this course, we hope, — a hope which 
we expressed some weeks since, and now repeat — to see a second edition of the 
former course, " the lectures to young men." This is necessary to put a complete 
sel into t!ie hands of every admirer of tliem, and we trust tlie suggestion will not 
be lost. — Baltimore Sun. 

The subjects selected by the lecturer were not only calculated to excite the irt- 
terest of his hearers, but eminently fitted to instruct and benefit society. And Mr. 
Burnap has been successful in accomplishing both. He has attained a desirable 
popularity among the elite, wliile at the same time ho is listened to and read by the 
humbler "classes that are in quest of useful knowledge. His lectures or essays all 
maintain a iiigh moral and intellectual tone, breathe a spirit of pure patriotism, and 
inculcate many valuable philosophic lessons. Nor is he wanting in practical 
utility. If he has labored effectively to impress upon the minds of his hearers the 
proper moral regulations to be observed, he has at the same time done justice to 
the domestic " duties." The volume will doubtless have a great run. His pub- 
lished lectures to young men some time since had a tremendous sale. His style is 
very plain and pleasing. — Saturday Visiter. 

The author recently published a series of lectures which he delivered before the 
young men of Baltimore, which were remarkable for the intelligent spirit which 
they displayed, and the sound moral instructions which they "conveyed. The 
present volume is written in the same spirit, and is a worthy offering to those to 
whom it is dedicated — the ladies. It deserves to be extensively read by them, for 
it i^ calculated to improve both mind and heart. The brwk is published in a hand- 
Bome style, and beautifully printed. — Philadelphia Ledger. 

The work should be in the hands of every young lady who is desirous of mental 
and moral improvement. We are really gratified that such a book should have 
Issued from a Baltimore press. — Meth. Protestant. 

5 



LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN, 

ON THE CULTIVATION OF THE MIND, THE FORMATION OF 
CHARACTER, AND THE CONDUCT OF LIFE. 

BY GEORGE W. BURNAP, 

JiiUhor of Lectures on the Sphere and Duties of Woman, Sfc. <5'c. ^'c. 

In announcing a tliiid edition of tliese popular lectures, it is deemed unnecessary 
10 say any thing in the way of commendation ; the high estimation in which Mr. 
Uurnap's writings are held in this country, and in Europe, are the best evidence 
of their general utility. These lectures, having passed through two large editions 
in England, have taken rank as •' Standard American Literature^" and are, accord- 
ing to the statements of the English press, destined to become a household book. 
For such as may not be acquainted with their general character, we select a few 
Brief extracts from notices of the first editions. 
" Great books are great evils." Mr. Burnap has acted up to this aphorism, and 
given to the public another admirable little book, brim full of practical utility. 
Every young man througliout the land, who has an education to learn, a profession 
to follow, or a character to form, may take up this volume with pleasure, and lay 
it down with profit. It contains many practical lessons, much good advice, and 
many sound doctrines ; — all forcibly put, affectionately urged, and eloquently 
argued. Southern Lit. Messenger. 

Notice of second edition. Mr. Burnap has rendered a valuable service to his 
country, by explaining to her young men, in terms so clear and forcible, their 
capacities and moral resources, — their means of usefulness, and their powers of 
good. He has drawn a chart for the young, and laid down with great accuracy the 
quicksands and shoals which beset the path of youth. No young man who heeds at 
all the dictates of truth, oc the lessons of experience, can read this book and fail to 
profit by the perusal. Parents and guardians should urge it on the attention of 
their sons and wards. Southern Lit. Messenger. 

We can recommend no work to young men more strongly for their perusal in 
their leisure hours, which combijies interest with usefulness, than the work before 
us. N. Y. Times if Star. 

These lectures, in a plain, common sense manner, point out to the young man 
the sure and only safe path to a prosperous and happy life, while they give with 
graphic truth, the inevitable ruin and desolation that follows the opposite one. 
We have read the work with a great deal of interest, and cheerfully recommend 
every young man to purchase a copy, and peruse it seriously and thoughtfully. 

Boston Pilot. 
As the title implies, this work particularly addresses itself to young men just 
entering on the stage of life, to whom the author, in the form of lectures, offers 
some excellent advice, and in a way calculated to make a deep impression. We 
recommend it to their perusal with much confidence. N. Y. Cour. ^ Inquirer. 
It is a book that every young man ought to read. N. Y. Sunday Mercurxj. 

The subjects selected by the lecturer were not only calculated to excite the in- 
terest of his hearers, but eminently fitted to instruct and benefit society. His lec- 
tures or essays all maintain a liigh moral and intellectual tone, breathe a spirit of 
pure patriotism, and inculcate many valuable philosophic lessons.— Sa(. Visiter. 

ENGLISH NOTICE OF THE LONDON EDITION. 

" This, we can foresee, is destined to become a Household Book. It is a long 
time since we met with any work better deserving of such distinction. We do 
not know of any work on the same subject of equal excellence, and those of our 
readers, who are wise, will buy and study it." The Jijtfrentice. 



J. MURPHY'S LIST OP JVEW PCBLWATIONS. 

JUST PUBLISHED, 

A HISTORY OF MARYLAND, 

From its Settlement in 1634 to the year 1848, 

WITH AN 

ACCOUiXET OP ITS FIRST DISCOVERY, 

AND THE 

VARIOUS EXPLORATIONS OF THE CHESAPEAKE BAY, 

ANTERIOR TO ITS SETTLEMENT, 

TO WHICH IS ADDED A 

COPIOUS APPENDIX, 

Containing the Names of the Officers of the Old Maryland Line; the 
Lords Proprietary of the Province, and the Governors of Maryland, 
from its settlement to the present time, Chronologically Arranged ; the 
Senators of the State in the Senate of the United States ; together with 
Tables of the Population of the Counties, at each Census, of the whole 
State, from its foundation ; and a Chronological Table of the Principal 
Events in its History, for the use of Students. 

BIT JAMES McSHBRRY, Esq., 

OF THE FREDERICK BAR, 

The work will be comprised in aa octavo volume of about 400 pages, 
embellished with 6 fine engravings. It will be neatly printed, on fine 
paper, and furnished to subscribers at the low price of $2 per copy. 



THE ORIENTAL PEARL, a Catholic Tale, by Mrs. Anna H. 
Dorsey. 

THE CATHOLIC CHRISTIAN'S COMPANION to Prayer, 
the Sacraments, and the Holy Sacrifice of the Massj illustrated with 
fine Engravings. The design of this little work is to comprise, in a 
small Pocket Volume, all the Prayers and Devotions necessary on the 
ordinary occasions of Catholic piety and worship. 

ETIQUETTE AT WASHINGTON, 

TOGETHER WITH THE CUSTOMS ADOPTED BY POLITE SOCIETY IN 
THE OTHER CITIES OF THE UNITED STATES. 

" Courts are the true centres of politeness.^' — This little hand book 
has been prepared, with great care by a gentleman, well qualified for 
the task, with the view of supplying a want, so long felt, by persons 
visiting our great Metropolis, either on business or pleasure. 



11^ PR E88. 

COBBETT'S HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION, a new and 
cheap edition. 

THE CHAPEL COMPANION, containing Pious Devotions at Mass, 
Morning and Evening Prayers, the Litanies, Vespers for Sun- 
days. &c. ; printed from large type, on fine paper. 

LINGARD'S HISTORY AND ANTIQUITIES OF THE ANGLO- 
SAXON CHURCH, with a Map of Anglo-Saxon Britain, &c. 



C 32, 89 i 



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